The Still Small Voice

The still, small voice no longer can be heard. The sacred, silent space unoccupied No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word. We centre our whole self on the absurd For iPads cannot pass through any eye The still, small voice no longer can be heard. God no longer feels inclined to share. The golden cloud of angels cannot fly No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word. The altar’s stripped, the rituals are nightmares. The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why The still, small voice no longer can be heard. A virtual wall stops grace from being shared. Jesus is made flesh and silent dies No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word. No one is an island, John Donne cried But now there is no truth to satisfy The still ,small voice no longer can be heard. No burning bush nor tempest speak The Wor