The Stillness
The Stillness.
The roaring brook did shine upon the wet
rocks, as does the sun and the moon on the
new fallen snow.
I walk alone, alone having only one thought
in mind. Some God must have made all this
Listen, listen, to the sounds.
The brook, the car, the bird, the airplane,
the wind, all have their own sound breaking
into the stillness. But still not fazing it.
If the sun and the moon can say it any better,
let them. I heard their cry in a snow flakes,
eye. The same stillness. Only more.
If I were Lord over all that came, all that is past
and all that is to come, I would say Amen
again and again with only stillness in my glee.
There seems to be a well of stillness, ever
flowing into the sea of life, from whence there
is no escape. I am a part, you are a part.
There is a heaven or hell into which we have
all died. A blessed stillness, a barrier that
divides God from man. A stillness, with Love
and reverence for it. For before it, is God.
Copyright © John Hardison | Year Posted 2015
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