the sound of crying,
that drives the pain.
the footfall of a thousand angels weeping.
tis the sound of faces,
without form or name.
the sound of feet,
with nothing to gain.
the star above a thousand children sleeping.
tis the heart unbound,
the shattered soul.
tis the hand extended,
that cannot hold.
the waiting at the edge of endless night.
tis the broken vase,
the candle spent.
the holy message,
that was never sent.
the battered spirit too tired to fight.
tis the kiss of god,
the scent of sin.
the source of light,
the bastard wind.
the bodies strewn in the ditch.
redemption’s song,
the healing torch.
the stranger standing,
on your porch.
the poor reaching to help the rich.
with endless gratitude,
we touch, we feel.
crosses laid down,
till empty be filled.
tis the sound of silence praying.
tis the sound of you,
inside of me.
tis wings unfurled,
the captive free.
the darkness screaming birthing light.
tis the fiber of dreams,
the flesh made cloth.
the call of fire,
that drinks the moth.
the words spoken restoring sight.
with endless sadness,
we touch, we feel.
crosses laid down,
till empty be filled.
tis the sound of silence praying.