Let God speak

Through cinnamon skies and ochre afternoons

where stillness reigns the day, and find

that all but trouble is welcome there,

let God speak.

In whispered whine of whippoorwills,

the tawdry tones of turtle songs,

the manic music made of nature’s hubris,

let God speak.

In Grandma’s flare for tasty treats

and children’s flare for eating them

their sticky, tie-dye candy rainbow teeth,

let God speak.

In Mother’s cautious, insistent drone

for teenage bravado of foolish boys

and chatty girls with nothing better to do,

let God speak.

In uncles, aunts and janitors,

whose stories tell of tales worth telling,

fostered in life’s mandibles,

let God speak.

In days that strike and nights that stain

with little pause for joy or cheer,

and time refuses to budge,

let God speak.

In sightless eyes still seeing more,

the pounding heart in fear or shame,

whose sleep is enemy and not friend,

let God speak.

 

Let God speak.

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8 thoughts on “Let God speak

      1. We poets seem to be a deep-thinking lot – I just read an essay connecting poets to higher instances of mental illnesses. Hmmmm…. maybe life roughs us up and we must needs write out the angst? Onwards and upwards….

      2. I’m trying to remember who said it, but whoever it was once said, “poetry will one day save the world.” While everyone else is intent on explaining the mystery out of everything, poets are seeing mystery in the mundane and casting beauty like petals to the wind.

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