I read of times when the Voice of God was heard;
thunderous times of tangible awe and audible law
and my heart ached.
I yearned to hear God speak, but somehow He remained silent
and the hazy golden-violet glory of the sun turning to rest
seemed like a whisper almost recognised
but quickly stilled.
Once I thought I heard the Voice,
and I snapped to attention waiting on the command
I would have done anything if I’d just been told
walked a world or sailed a storm
If only He’d asked me
But, the sound retreatedand I imagined
a divine disappointment
in the enclosing quiet.
Then, like a quiet surprise on a fragile breeze
I sensed an arm, light as a dandelion
resting on my shoulder and asking to stay
And as I lingered under that nourishing touch
it was as if the whole world
person and plant, creature and void
sang with the Voice
And called me ‘friend’.
