The Mystery behind the Mystery

I want to cry out,

to confess that I don’t have the answers

declaring my ignorance in all things.

I want to show my hands and feet

no wounds there, no stigmata

no stripes on my back

these instead lay hidden

deep within the heart

in the darkened recesses

where the Spirit sighs

in the depths of my soul.

I feel the fraud, the jester 

speaking words of faith

like a snake oil salesman

in a time of the quick fix,

here take this and live

when all around death reigns

and the darkness gathers.

I look out onto the people

gathered in prayer

seeking comfort 

in the words I speak,

hoping to see the truth in images

distorted in fun house mirrors

as loud voices expunge the truth,

enslaving the minds 

in Orwellian silence

while the poet sits

listening for that one voice

in the midst of the noise. 

That one voice that brings peace

the one voice that breaks chains

the one voice that gives hope,

the voice that breaths life 

even as death approaches

giving light to the dark sphere

in which we live today.

The poet dares to write

the words he hears,

words that break down walls

and brings healing.

Words wielded as broadswords

cutting through the hedges

of the mystery behind the mystery

the Divine hidden within

shining its light into darkened corners

shattering the lies.


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