The Sand Whispers
In the beginning, there was not
The Word,
But silence,
A silence that weighs upon the soul.
Then came the dust,
with the flavor of an unfinished word,
like a lingering memory of a promise
half-spoken
by a God
too weary to complete the phrase.
The heavens offer no sign.
Only His absence wounds the heart.
And I walk onward,
unaware of the destination.
The sand is not barren.
It holds the weight of all I’ve lost:
A promise trodden underfoot,
A love forsaken
Before it could even bloom.
Somewhere,
in the shadowed recess of non-being,
God remains silent;
Not from indifference,
but because His mercy
no longer finds room
within our sullied measure of time.
When shall I arrive?
I do not know.
Yet I know the road
knows me better than I know myself.
And when the hour arrives,
I shall not knock upon the door.
My silence has been long enough.
My silence shall be the key.
And perhaps the door,
by the mercy of Him who waited for me,
shall open of its own accord.
I will step inside
bearing all I could not speak,
all the prayers
that burned within me
yet never reached the heavens.
Because sometimes,
even silence
is a way of faith.
Copyright © Florin Lacatus | Year Posted 2025
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