our choice


there are words on a page
flat, uncompromising
and there are words
that make drumbeats sound strident
and that warm the blood for war
and words that caress with the gentleness
of an afternoon misting of rain
that the sun shines through
rainbows that linger in the silence thereafter
and words that are whispers
sugar sparkling as it slides off a coffeespoon
the afternoon sun lingering softly
the voice that sings words like the orchestras of the world
that live, a logos of living powers
that sing in the still, small voice
of God.

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