” Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence”
Eliot ~ Ash Wednesday
How we treasure the word that follows
one upon another - streaming sentences
and blowing conversational bubbles
until the babble boils over
the tower of tongues topples in confusion
humans can neither fly nor build their way to heaven
Even those who speak in tongues
predict that God and glossolalia are worlds apart
The ear was created ready bent for sound
waves that ebb and flow in a concave shell
the channel though is heaped with pandemonium
just as eyes toss and turn to a flickering fantasy
and all for fear that the word will resound
in the dead air of transmission
Joining in with the Midweek Motif ‘Fear‘ and linking up with the Tuesday Platform
PoetryPix 