Phil Wickham When My Heart is Torn Asunder

Saturday, May 28, 2011

The Keeper


The Keeper
12-2010
Cynthia Lott Vogel

Yours are the only ears who will hear
The only tongue to recount
Of that which my brain
Struggles to make sense…
And miserably fails.

I would not be able to give voice
To my sentience
That with full volume sound
Crashing in my ears…
Nothing penetrates the
Intrusion of thought.
Not thoughts which I command;
Thoughts that command me.
Pictures which are not.
Voices which speak not
But are too loud to bear.
Plots that grab and carry me to places
Both absurd and terrifying.

Meaning has fled.
And everything propounds
Too much significance
To possibly decipher.

I cannot hear the music.
The music has fled
At the din of my thought.
There is no distraction great enough--
Save maybe one--
But o God, I know where
That road ends.

Thoughts, desperate grasping
Thoughts
Of escape.
Enough to swallow
Enough to sleep?
Enough to cease?
No more inspiration
Only expiration.
Sorry, this deadline has expired.
There will be a fine.

The deadline
Is a fine line.
One difficult to find
When you are looking for it.

Is there no one to call?
No hand to save.
No voice that I could hear
Above this furor?
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