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.