You might not spot them in a crowd – <br />but for that certain stillness of the self-contained: <br /> <br />in conversation, not until some detail <br />of an action, person, or a deed <br />sparks their mind; then from their heart - <br />not, pours – but rather, in a fine, fine stream <br />of exquisite precision, flows - their praise: <br /> <br />as if their whole self gives itself to you <br />in some new form of thought, in which <br />there is no longer, they and you – <br />you are united in exalted praise; <br /> <br />and their eye shines – inviting you to join <br />a world above: perhaps they sum the virtue <br />of a person, action, deed; and yet, <br />while they are speaking, praise is seated there <br />above the virtues; they are prophets, seers, <br />visionaries of that which in our praise, we are.. <br /> <br />and perhaps, you try to join them in your speech – <br />how awkwardly praise sits upon your tongue! <br />you, who prided so yourself, a balanced judge <br />of all your fellow humans…find yourself <br />now at some sad and puny tongue-tied loss.. <br /> <br />so, practise, in ourselves, a year or two – <br />(there’s silent praise – the eye gives that away…) <br />and praise the praiseful in their mighty work: <br />another world awaits: where we become <br />the prophets of ourselves in timeless life.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-praisers/
