Make me Silent, that I may eloquently converse with Thee.

I wandered through forests of incessant searchings, and arrived at the mystery door of Thy presence. On the doors of silence I knocked loudly with my persistent blows of faith, and the doors of space opened. There, on the altar of glorious visions, I beheld Thee, resting.

I stood, with restless eyes, waiting for Thee to speak. I heard not Thy creation-making voice. At last the spell of stillness stole upon me, and in whispers taught me the language of angels. With the lisping voice of new-born freedom, I tried to speak, and the lights of Thy temple assumed sudden brilliancy and wrote letters of light.

In my little chamber of quietness, I am always resting: I never speak but with the voice of my silence. Through my silence, eloquently converse with me.

From: Whispers from Eternity
A Book of Answered Prayers
1949 Edition

You gave me the child
that seamed my belly
& stitched up my life.

You gave me: one book of love poems,
five years of peace
& two of pain.

You gave me darkness, light, laughter
& the certain knowledge
that we someday die.

You gave me seven years
during which the cells of my body
died & were reborn.

Now we have died
into the limbo of lost loves,
that wreckage of memories
tarnishing with time,
that litany of losses
which grows longer with the years,
as more of our friends
descend underground
& the list of our loved dead
outstrips the list of the living.

Knowing as we do
our certain doom,
knowing as we do
the rarity of the gifts we gave
& received,
can we redeem
our love from the limbo,
dust it off like a fine sea trunk
found in an attic
& now more valuable
for its age & rarity
than a shining new one?

Probably not.
This page is spattered
with tears that streak the words
lose, losses, limbo.

I stand on a ledge in hell
still howling for our love

No matter how much you plan
And try to cope with the distance,
And months, and time differences
No matter how many ways you
Establish modes of communication
Just to have daily conversations
The sticks will fall
And land where they land
Indifferent to your plans
After awhile you will fall
And land where you land
Regardless of those previous plans

written out on napkins, scrap pieces of paper, and the occasional wall i find barren
the love letters that i've been writing to no one; i'm still trying to forget her
and it's getting harder to lose the words in myself as i lose myself in the words
that i've put down on whatever, where ever i find the time in a love letter
to no one.

so, as i pour myself out into my typewriter and write the types of feelings
you should know i've been trying to forget you as each line passes
as i pour myself another shot in the dark of the days i've been seeing through light
you're long gone, dead, and still unable to see without the frames of your glasses
through no one.

you've taught yourself not to let the letters find you out there in the wild
as i wildly write these letters from the bottom of my heart
sending them off to be edited by the endless critics and satyrs of our time
that have no clue where i'm coming from or even where i had to start;
for no one.

I get so caught up in trying to make it all beautiful.
"These are your glory days, darling."
Sixteen and full of potential energy.
Flammable youth, some would say.
What will I become?
I'm in love and in debt with possibilities.
My insides are soaked with prayers and... want.
I'm tired of trying to be what I don't even think I want to be.
what everyone else expects of me.
I want to be free.
Free from grades and the cliches.
I'm sixteen! I'm supposed to be free!
My life isn't even worthy of any label.
I'm merely a reflection.
Oh, God.