In the haunted wilderness
Among the lightning-shattered trees
Billowing clouds of ash
And the arid earth
I hear the voice of one crying
Over rolling years, it takes many forms
A bereft scream
A dying whisper
Full lungs behind a ram’s horn
The cadence of a parent
It carries the sorrow of the world
That we may feel real in the echo of grief
And loved in the presence of pain
It has things to say we do not want to hear
But what else could truth be?
At the border of life and death
Are my pain and my crimes
Yet the sky is pregnant with grace
Am I too proud to say “I’m a sinner”
If the rain falls at those words?
Some say we are empty
Our memories are of no one
And we are but drops in the wave
Does God not shed us unique
Like a tear?
The prophets we did not kill
We exiled to the wasteland
They wait there patiently for us
To find in the ashes
Our ears to hear
The voice of One
Is a cypher for sunrise
To end the cold desolation of night
We hear it and live
Though we die, we live
