One Purpose

I imagine God,
Small Child
Bounding to His Mother
Holding a work of art.

Unfinished and thoroughly blemished,
It is perfect.

“Look Mom,” He says.
“Look what I’ve made.”
“Isn’t it cool?”

And as only a Mother can,
She holds the work,
Its mismatched colors,
Rough textures,
And breathes it in
As though She were,
For the first time,
Gazing upon the Mona Lisa.

And Her heart beats with Wonder,
Love and Gratitude unmeasured.

This is Our one purpose.


~The Bellowing Angels (T.B.A.)


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