A virtual wall stops grace from being shared.

The still,small voice no longer can be heard.
The  sacred, silent space  unoccupied
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

We centre our   whole self on the absurd
For iPads cannot pass through any eye
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.

God no longer feels inclined to share.
The golden cloud  of angels  cannot fly
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

The altar’s stripped,  the rituals  are nightmares.
The ancient priest says Mass and wonders why
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.

A  virtual wall stops grace from being shared.
Jesus is made flesh and , silent, dies
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

No man is an island,John Donne cried
But now there is no truth to satisfy
The still,small voice no longer can be heard.
No burning bush nor tempest speak The Word.

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About Kate4grace

I love writing and conversation,wild flowers,music and air
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