I’ve adjusted my theories about You,
at times, but I’ve held firmly onto them.
Whether they be right or wrong,
I don’t know what I’m talking about.
I know You not at all; You know my every sin.
You are ever clothed in the divine mystery;
I am naked and ashamed, afraid
to be in the same room with You,
cooped up in Your tomblike silence.
I keep up this chatter to escape
Your soundless, fearsome intimacy.
When I run out of questions
I’ll be totally at Your mercy, just as I am now
but with no words with which to pretend otherwise.
O child of God, the truth you are seeking
will never be on your side.
No comments:
Post a Comment