Every time I name people (as with the list of poets the day before yesterday), I always seem to omit very important people. One name that I almost instantly regretted leaving out was e.e. cummings. This essayist, playwright, painter and poet uses simple and straighforward language to shake up my complacency.
i am a little church (far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish) at peace with nature
– i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring, i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
You can read the entire poem here.