Another
fine mess
Words
never contain the truth –
it
pours right through them
splattering
onto the immaculate page.
But
I am not yet comfortable with silence
which
feels too much like
the
loneliness leading up to death.
You
were silent in Your Onlyness.
I
have only words to offer.
You
were silent in Your Wholeness.
I
am not silent because I am not whole,
habitually
voicing my words
of
praise and complaint
for
yet another fine mess
You
seem to have gotten us into.
O
child of God, another collection of words from you.
When
will you be struck dumb by your own presumption?
(drawing
by Rich Panico)
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