the voices are silenced
by the stone deaf ears of those who will not listen
but the prophets will speak again
when the time is appropriate
far across the desert
behold the promised land
where we were cast out into
captivity
far across the desert
behold the promised land
where we will return some day
to fulfill a prophesy
exile is but a term for the state
of the heart
where we stand isolated one
alone together
while the gentle fingers of
the cool evening wind
graces the desert of our spirits
before we move on
in the twilight i kneel in the
sand
and watch the rose as it slowly
closes in the sunset,
the tears of its dew touches
the hand that cups the bud gently
while my thoughts wander the
desolation of a soul
in search of a language to explain
this unwanted destiny
we have walked far and the bundles
of our enjoined lives
wearies us with the burden of
their awareness,
we have walked far, my friend,
and from parched lips
we voice the lamentations that
are echoed by the wilderness
once a rock was struck and the
water of faith poured forth
but tonight we are offered only
the sand of our own words
while we rest under the stars
that illuminate
more resignation than they offer
comfort
tomorrow we shall journey onward
under a hot sun
that mocks our breath while
the sand sucks our weary legs
deeper into the bitterness of
those forgotten by history
the bitterness of the banishment
of our own oblivion
Roger B. Humes
Copyright © 2003 |
