Metaphors

I wonder if metaphors are everywhere,

Begging to be seen while I am unaware.

If it were so, what would they teach me?

Would they tell of God, love, and life? Maybe all three?

And would they be true reflections, or would there be lies?

Would they rest in plain sight or try to hide?

If I write just one word, is it deeper than that,

Not just lead on paper but a window to my past?

Is it me creating new,

Doing what I was born to do?

Defying the chaos of nature and forcing it to order?

Shaping material to spiritual, then erasing the border?

When I toss a stick into the flame,

Or spell in dirt my own name,

When I shout from the mountaintops,

And pick up five small river rocks,

Should my mind think of the lion’s den,

And forgiveness for my awful sins?

Should I remember testing as the devil's thing,

And of faith found in a shepherd's sling?

Is it all that,

Or are metaphors not everywhere?

And when I do something,

It’s just me standing there.