All talk is idle,
said my Lord (in His silence),
when it is not acted
upon or lived up to.
I find myself standing mute these days,
straining to contain myself; refraining
from any further entanglement
in this great insubstantiality.
I’ve turned over to Meher my thoughts,
words and deeds. I’m
His responsibility now.
And all my idle talk of late
is contained in these poems,
an attempt to get near enough
to grasp the jouncing hem of His skirt.
O child of God, this poetry is the chitchat
you make awaiting the stroke of His sword.
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