Friday, April 07, 2017


Our words, so much less than
The inarticulate dream;
Our stumbling, bumbling counterfeits
Tumbling  from our lips
Grumbling with inadequacy
For what remains unsaid
Even when we say it.

We take Your words
And cut them up
Hoping to find actuality
In the inter-consonantal spaces,
And, when we find nothing
Declare that nothing’s there.

We are the impoverished
Who rise in the morning
And hear no angels’ song.
We are the foolish
Thinking words are less
Than our spirals of activity.
We are the ignorant
Who do not know
The power of Your words.
We are the arrogant
Making ourselves the measure
And the universe falls short.

How can You speak
Into the restless hubbub
Of our whirling self-justification?

Let us be willing
To wait in the silence,
Testing our words against truth
Falling silent
Waiting until
Your words remake the world

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