Sometimes when I read another's words
I have my words knocked out of me
And taken to this higher plane
The breath of God rushes in
And I no longer need
My paltry words to sustain me.
How can I,
A humbled poet,
Open my mouth after this?
So that when I die, I might be carried
On at least one worthy word of mine
That might pass the lips of God
And on His breath
For an eternity rest.