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There is a word, stronger and truer than the
perpetual vibration shaking us
earthquakes of news and feeds,
new, new, terrible, new.
It is a still small whisper,
spoken to runaway Elijah
hearts shivering in mountain caves,
far from the call.
But the call comes still.
It sniffs us out.
Seeks us and reminds us who we are.
What we are here for.
We are never alone.
The strongmen of earth seek to cover the whisper in caucophany,
drown it in flood, burn it in fire.
But the whisper resounds with the force of a trumpet
to those who have ears to hear.
Goodness and mercy which can never be shaken,
orphans and widows never forsaken,
a kingdom with no boundaries and no immigration,
where all are are outcasts, but all are invited.
