He is

He is the thunder in the storm,

The roar after a crack of lightning

Burns through the sky and hits the ground.

He is the silence in the womb,

The sweet quiet noiseless depths

That lie at the bottom of the ocean

Rushing in like a heavy silent wind

That is so poignant, it is heavy.

He is the bird in winter

Singing out of his longing

For warmer days;

Singing out of his desire

To connect with you,

To hold you -

To comfort you.

He is wisdom

In human form

Stumping the educated,

Raising the fool into honored places

This is scandal: he raises the lowly

And strikes down the proud.

He is the sweet clean water

Flowing through a child’s hands

In the park on Sunday

Under the warm sun amidst the calls

Of the children playing nearby.

40 days and 40 nights

I wept for him

That he would come and fill me

Make me the man that I should be

Give me peace and understanding

And bring life

To my weary soul.

He burns hot in the great behemoth stars

Exploding light from their cores out into endless galaxies

Swirling in great heaving spirals.

He is in the snow

Alighting softly on the ground

In the comforting silence

Of a quiet mid-winter night.

He comes to rest

Blanketing my agitated soul

And wrapping it in peace.

In silence.

In stillness.

He refreshes me in the lonely midnight hour

And sustains me through the tumultuous day.

Bids me come and follow,

When I am walking my own rocky path;

He shows me the road less traveled

The sweet road of silence that winds through

Lands of fierce and wild beauty.

-Fant(11/16/2013)