It is in the silence that he is usually there,

in the angel music he will ordinarily speak,

but like many who wander and wonder

there is an emptiness and disconnection.

—–

Shadows of shapes where he used to be

and a faint echo that which led to stability,

a heavy heart hangs low, he held it once

and calmly led me by my own frail hand.

—–

A desertification of my spiritual journey,

sand dunes and landscapes of coloured

hues of a sun set, strange birds and sighs

as the wonder that is around me -waits

—–

by my side and some times I can feel

that he’s been there, walked this way

and in my dreams I am trying to run

and reach him before he is truly gone.

—–

Then the crying of tortured people,

the homeless refugees, raped women,

and hungry children call me to pray

and in praying I kneel and beseech

——

and ever doing it in a vacuum, I trust.

Trying not to stop even though he’s silent.

Trying to persist with persistent prayer.

Trying to listen and know that God is Love.

—

For Jesus walked this world and wept,

keeping faith even to a bloodied cross,

proclaiming, God is good and he enfolds

our weary woundedness with steadfast

Love.