The blood of silence pounds within my ears,
And yet my lips are sealed as living scrolls,
As I, unworthy wait these silent years;
the word burns in my mouth as living coals.
I dwell amid the dry and scattered bones,
Waiting to exhale the word of life.
But sealed the word, and sealed my own heart's groans,
And sealed the grave, the bones of my own wife.
I know these scattered bones will rise again,
Together gathered, enfleshed alive and new.
But now there is the waiting until then,
The terror of the vision clear and true;
Waiting with the weight of words unspoken,
Waiting in the silence still unbroken.
Kenny: a sonnet from Ordinary Saints
22 hours ago