Noise

The air hurts your face
as you walk.
The sun is lost behind grey clouds.

You hear the wind moan through the quarry
as you step, one slow foot
ahead of the next.

You are weary of journeys with no path,
no golden summit without vistas,
no promised place of warmth. You ache

for a fire where you can rest,
where warmth fills your every bone
as effectively as the cold burrowed in them this morning.

You yearn for a soul to share both
the burdens and joys of the Abraham-like wandering
and to become your home,

your purpose,
your life.

But for now, it is not meant to be, and so
you wander, God’s whisper in your ear,
not loud enough to be understood,

not quiet enough
to be ignored.

About this poem

That “understanding is just out of reach” feeling….

Tom