I talk about Your silence.
(The irony does not escape me) --
knowing nothing, chattering along
while You hold Your tongue,
mouth containing universes,
and motion with Your eyes
toward the path
You wish me to follow.
When will I get the hint?
When will the world get the hint? –
this snickering, shouting,
riotous and blasphemous world?
I quote Your words.
Lord, let me quote Your silence
and leave behind forever
the tongue of my conceit,
the lips of my folly, the hollow,
brittle bars of this poetry.
O child of God, honor your poems.
They are addressed from Him to you.