The White Flower

A poem about a religious experience when I was in my 20's

Coming upon it by chance,
I kidnapped a white flower,
alone in a field of green.

Holding its body in the rays of the sun,
I accepted Christ
and its whiteness became the clouds
and they melted into invisible oneness.

The flower bled white blood
and the white was
non-existent mist about me
touching and teaching me.

The white flower echoed
truth off the mountains in a mute melody.
I was not alone.
The sun flowed silvery white ribbons
and chased the mist away.
The light was truth
and the white flower,
imprisoned in my hand,
lived and died.