Listen, hear.
In the chaos of life, a song. In the loneliness of love, a melody. In the dreamless dawn, a word. In the featureless day, a sob. In the exhaustion of survival, a prayer. From the dry, dead wilderness a shout.
Listen, hear.
Don’t listen to the preachers of power, they cannot let go. Don’t listen to the voices from behind, they can only call you back. Don’t listen to the critics who question your ability, they don’t understand the gifts of grace. Don’t listen to the bitter who demand special status, they breed hatred. Don’t listen to the puffed up proud, they have no mercy.
Listen, hear.
The voice of the divine is crying out in the barren places. The voice of love is crying out in hopeless places. The voice of joy is crying out in the grieving places. The voice of mercy is crying out in the guilty places. The voice of peace is crying out in the embattled places. The voice of comfort is crying out in the wounded places.
Listen, hear.
The cry is for you. It calls you and sends you. It calls you to prepare the way. It calls you to break open doors and pull down walls. It calls you to clear paths and rip down fences. It calls you to smooth out obstacles and make the road ahead easy. It calls you to shine with the light of all lights, to sing with the source of all love. It calls you to heal and to soothe, to hold and to calm.
Listen, hear.
You are the pioneer of shalom. You are the herald of the all loving. You are the voice in the emptiness. You are the prophet and the poet. You are the introducer of the divine. You are the cry of the future. You are the hands and the feet of the coming beloved.
Listen, hear, cry, sing.
PICTURA POESIS 