The Sounds of Silence
SOUNDS OF SILENCE
Amid voices of things that are not there.
Quiet me, I pray.
Deliver me from noise.
Noise within.
Noise without.
Noise
No radio. No TV.
All alone and yet I hear
humming and whirring,
wind chasing wind around corners,
howling
Close me in, Lord.
Stop the voices inside
accusing, reminding me,
condemning and binding me.
Voices.
He welcomes me
with a gentle smile,
brushing away my tears
and hushing my accusers.
In the surrounding silence I hear
His song.
Elaine H. Soerens March 7, 2006
The Fragile Cup
The waif, luminous, offers a fragile bowl,
“Would you care to cry?”
My tears fill the cup.
She returns it, “Tea?”
Sipping, I find cleansing.
Weeping endures,
but joy sings harmony
and I hear songs in the night,
Secure and peaceful,
my beloved asleep beside me,
and My Beloved, who never slumbers,
keeps watch.
Venetian windows filter moonlight
bathing my home in cool peace
A wafer bids rest’s embrace
and I yield.
A Lover’s Song
A lovers song, in key of C—
celestial hymn. I hopefully
join in refrain, but cannot know
if I’m in tune or just below.
More dissonance than harmony.
Yearning for Him, I voice my plea.
Lord, how I long to sing of Thee.
He whispers, yes, my child, I know—
a lover’s song.
To Zephaniah, chapter three,
His Spirit led, and now I see.
It’s He who sings, so sweet and low,
healing me in His joyous flow.
He’s singing in the key of me,
a lover’s song.
The White Basket
The white basket of roses and baby’s breath
placed near his feet by his five year old daughter
drew gasps and tears from all five hundred
mourners. She had insisted on a bouquet
fitting for a bride, not a man so young.
No one now remembers those who stayed away,
supposing they could catch that dreaded disease
from the little girl whose Daddy lay there
cold and silent. Only the closest
next of kin walked behind the oak wood
casket when, on his thirtieth birthday,
six of his friends carried him to his grave.
Enjoying God
Do you want to go to heaven when you die?
Of course you do. So do I.
Abundant life is ours, He said.
Are we to wait until we’re dead?
What about now? What about here?
What about these people we hold dear?
What about our homes until we go?
I’m sorry, Lord, but it’s all I know.
Do we soldier on ‘til that day
We fly away to hear him say,
Friend, you made it by the skin of your teeth.
Come on up, leave your life beneath.
Your time—some locked up, sometimes free—
How much of it did you spend with me?
I gave you my word to light your way,
To guide your feet through night and day.
I provided so your heart could heal
When I told you not to hate or steal.
I want for you: peace, joy, and love,
In the here and now, not just then, above.
Your troubled world is deep inside.
You hold it in, but you can’t hide.
To sustain joy, let anger cease.
Bitter memories steal your peace,
It’s not too late! Begin right now
To pursue the One who shows you how
To walk in victory, to love and release
Your anger, your pain, and live in peace.
Sunrise Surprise
I fill the first hour of morning with mundane matter—
coffeepots and toothbrushes,
combs and socks,
dog walking and face washing—
until my table place
invites me to rest beside the Book awhile.
Joy expands my heart again.
He is.
And He is here.
written in 2004
The Windmill
Crickets quit chirping. Wind rustling through weeds
signals intrusion. The windmill sighs.
Dogged he enters; he knows what he needs.
“Why?” cries the windmill west swaying to east,
with a croak mournful as a raven’s grief.
Concealed in deep shadows: a determined beast.
The marauder claims his dark relief.
A craven fool, by deed he is made
Of trust, betrayer; of innocence, thief.
The wind shifts again with a weary groan.
Damage is done–a permanent stain.
The windmill is stilled, aloof and alone.
Awaking to Clouds
Yawning, aching, I stumble out of bed
muzzy-headed,
reluctant to face the day.
Fog, gray as a mouse, lingers,
shrouding dawn’s wistful light.
Ah…now I remember; we’ve had bad news.
Dreadful possibilities.
Summoning my will I reach for the Book
and scramble through familiar passages,
longing for a word, a ray of light this dark morning.
At last a glimmer. I read:
He will come to us like the rain;
like the spring rain, watering the earth.
And I go from dreading clouds
to longing for rain.
Over the Hill
Jack and Jill went up a hill.
A squirrel climbed a tree.
Everyone seems upward bound,
and up always pertains to me.
Facing trouble I have found
I’m not much of a fighter.
It’s much easier climbing
when one travels lighter.
Pitching out clutter—
the stuff I don’t need,
unencumbered by ambition,
jealousy and greed,
Refreshed by the light
and the wind in my face,
though this mountain is steep
I’m increasing my pace.
Life’s a climb, a race,
a wilderness wandering,
sad veil of tears, or
deep valley of pondering
Metaphors, similes,
analogies—fine.
but for syndromes and hang-ups
I just don’t have time.
I’ve climbed my social ladder
and scaled the highest peak.
I’m on the way down now,
a human antique.
I know where I’m going.
Ahead the way is clear.
Not yet crossing Jordan
but I can see it from here!
I won’t hit the finish line
admitting fatigue.
I’m over the hill now
and picking up speed.
Full of Sap
Full of sap
and very green.
Green.
Green as grass, as leaves
of lilies poking through
green ferns, fairy fresh
and aspen shimmering,
quaking with life,
celebrating.
Lupine spears
spiking the sky,
blue bonnets held high,
yet still green.
Like cedars proudly tall
minding not at all,
lower needles browning,
falling,
seeds sheltering
new life,
full of sap
and very green,
fruit bearing into old age.
Still.
And still green.
Psalm 92:14
