Advent: Week Three

The desert is crunched by heavy vehicle
and the mountain moved to the sea
a highway made, waxing lyrical
a journey from manger to hanging tree
we tell your story, with peculiar flair
your people formed with cries
as we submit from dust to gold
to he who is just and wise

I have been waiting
for my worry to turn to confidence
and anxiety to be whisked
into intrepid tenacity
but all I found at the bottom of the bowl
was hope

There is a gap where a voice should be
A hole to hold words never heard
A space where you should speak
but you do not speak—we stare it down
the silence of the heavens
lip-closed, key turned, choosing to not say
what they could say to alleviate our pain
it is better this well we tell ourselves
white lies—or sharp truths, telling the difference
is the trick we have not learned.
Can we before we reach the land of the living
of the ever-giving? Of the streams,
of the wine and the breadfruit, of the trees
pregnant with promise, flowers budding
for spring. Is this a voice? Or is it a silence?
May we learn your way.