The Word was written,
But my word is spoken
In the silence of the sacred,
In the crash of the ocean.
The Word was written,
But still I fumble
With what to think
To remain humble.
The Word was written,
But how does Nature sing!
And how pretty the lilacs dance
And how awesome bubbles the spring.
The Word was written,
But my mind questions,
Scourges the earth for answers,
Philosopher is my essence.
The Word was written,
But how it nods
To the doubt in me
That there are such gods.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 6:16 PM UTC
The Word was written,
But my word is spoken
In the silence of the sacred,
In the crash of the ocean.
The Word was written,
But still I fumble
With what to think
To remain humble.
The Word was written,
But how does Nature sing!
And how pretty the lilacs dance
And how awesome bubbles the spring.
The Word was written,
But my mind questions,
Scourges the earth for answers,
Philosopher is my essence.
The Word was written,
But how it nods
To the doubt in me
That there are such gods.
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