Robert Ludden Poet Free verse

The Silent Voice

is tapping gently on my consciousness
as if it is the gateway to the content
looming at my upper left, approaching
from behind, and it is mine to watch
its transubstantiation--all my senses
on alert for rendezvous with God.

Or is that just another name we give
for spirit ferrying across the misty chasm
lying just beyond the mind?

My unselfish higher self,
a god-impersonator perhaps,
lacks guile, his robe is mystery--
no other dress will fit his grand design.
I am no man I want to be
until I let him in.

And there my eyelids close
to open on a world I could not see;
the voice demands
that I be silent, too, and then
the wordless wisdom has the chance
to speak.

You?  Awaiting my translation?
No,  your own ethereal sprite
is there to part the mists as well.
For they are just the passing cloud,
not to obscure, but lure us 
into watching, listening,
perceving glimpses that may grow
to let a mortal know 
there is the power with which
he can embrace eternity!
                    ~

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