Pretty Tree

My first manuscript hangs on my office wall
With a 3x5 index card reporting confirmation.
Confirmation of reception and ultimate scrutiny.
Confirmation of a basement dwelling self esteem.

The manuscript hangs to test my shifting faith,
A persistent question asking me to lay my hands,
On the copied face of my enthusiastic exposure,
To funnel Power through my mustard seed sized hole.

Daily I touch the cover and pray that they be gentle.
I ask the Lord for unmitigated editorial favor.
May they pass all blunders and smile when appropriate
And may they stay awhile on one certain verse.

Then one day as I pray I drift, and wonder,
If the words I have written matter at all.
I wander off the small path and on to the highway
Of self and the denial of words formed in His image.