What If God turned off the Sound?

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

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