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 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.
I will not stop even though he is silent.
I will not put down the calls for prayer.
I will never stop saying God is Love.
For Jesus walked this world and wept,
and so I will continue to cry in hope,
and proclaim that God is good ’til –
my wounds and his are bound together,