This is my first draft of a poem that I REALLY WANT TO REVISE! This concept seemed really cool as i was musing over some of the small sound details of our world. i hope you enjoy it because i really enjoyed writing it. CHEERS!
What If we could hear what God hears?
What if we could hear what God hears?
We would hear a child come back to life
In the hallow thud of two bodies meeting in a hug.
One man is soldier and also a son.
The other a father with a family of none.
Their tears crunching as they mix with each others,
Cementing two together in a moment.
Trapping the silence between them
As they exhale sighs that whisper gently
Through the hair on their shoulders,
Sending a breeze to stir random notes of wind chimes
That hang heavy above the porch
To play music that isn’t chance.
It’s a song of Welcome Home—
Never Let Go.
We would be able to hear hate
Slowly receding into love as it loses speed.
As waves crash angry on a shore,
So violence passes away,
Leaving the foam to withdraw
And hush itself as it fades
Like a father quiets a child
With one finger held in front of his face.
A single sound lullaby plays
Saying everything will be okay.
We would hear the sound of sleeplessness.
Shifting weight on a hospital bed
In the quiet refusal of the sick
Uttered in the hopeful groan leaving their lips.
We would need to listen with a keen ear
And look up at the stars so we could hear
Them twinkle like the playing
Of a pianos highest key.
We would hear the sounds the world makes.
Hoof beats towing the sun across the sky
A wolf howling, tilting back his head,
Lifting a full moon on a glittering night,
The grass as it awakens and shakes dew off its spine.
Would a babies laughter sound like a miracle?
Or would a miracle be the sound of laughter
Spreading faster than light in a dark room?
Or walls for war cracking and crumbling,
Or forests splitting and scorching,
Or would the miracle be in rebuilding?
Or would it come in dirt shifting,
New-born roots crawling
Like arms above the soil, stretching,
Making room for spring to bloom?
Could our ears handle what God hears?
The fleeing of footsteps from fatherhood.
The clouds, as thunder reminds the world
Of wars of old and the bombs we hurled.
The desolation and desperation that squeaks
In something as simple as a mouse searching
Over broken floorboards for a crumb of cheese.
The miracles forfeiting the chance to be rebuilt
In the sounds of brick being laid on brick,
Or earth covered seed splitting and sending
Tiny limbs out to settle firm in the dirt,
Or laugher aborted to die in a tomb,
An unwanted miracle, an emptied out womb.
Could our ears handle the hatred
Thrown against Him in rage?
If we could hear those things
Would it be crazy to think that God
Lowered the volume on what he has made
Or covered his ears with his calloused hands
Because he can’t go on listening to all of our pain?
Maybe he is sick of hearing that He died in vain—
That would be a shame.
Because the ones who still believe in him
Are the ones daily pray.
But it I guess it wouldn’t matter,
The world would be on mute, and
He wouldn’t hear them anyway.
I welcome your comments