Silence, beneath the cross of Christ.
Silence, by a mountain stream.
Or a crashing sea.
Silence, it must be.
Silence, the assent of the inner being.
That here, words are gently taken away.
No sound to be uttered.
Perhaps a deeply indrawn breath.
An exhalation.
Joy, wonderment, bewilderment.
Silence.
But silence is another thing.
When a child is losing her life.
To the stupidity and pride of
The powerful.
Silence, when folks are denied.
The right to love.
By those who take upon themselves:
The right to decide who can love, and who can't.
Silence in the face of hate
And the suffering it causes.
The suffering of the innocent.
And who are the innocent?
But those who are borne down.
With the shackles of tradition.
The chains of history.
The whip of courts and legislatures.
Silence, when the world is turning upside down.
And lies are welcomed as truth.
And truth is denied as a lie.
And the cruel liars laugh at the death of others.
Silence, in such times, is a crime all the more.
A crime more than those who commit their crimes:
Of hatred and fear, lies and bullets.
Great wickedness wearing designer jeans.
Greater still the wickedness of silence.
The silence of one's own comfort.
The silence of our pleasant little bubbles.
Because I'm not a racist, a bigot, or mean!
I'm good, aren't I?
I care. I really do.
But care is such a pain.
Care is good for awhile, and then must be discarded.
Silence is good.
Others suffer for their own sins, not mine.
Children die, when god visits upon them.
So my silence will bury their cries.
Silence, a deadly sin.
A fever of the soul
A virus with a millions little crowns.
Hooking into the mind.
Silence, that is never holy.
Never right, never good.
Silence, that means death for others.
Such silence demands: A voice lifted up.
A voice to sing.
A voice to cry.
A voice to protest.
A voice that shatters the ice-cold silence.
A voice.
Never silent.
A voice.
From the heart of God.
