The signs sing silhouettes of His being,

Creeping as shadows creep.

Minds stretch at the infinite meaning,

Manifest in the deepest of deep.

Are we now deaf to the powerful sound,

Numb to that which makes our souls weep.

The pages that expound, are now bound,

And the words to the heart we keep.

The wind travels without a sound,

Whispering only by thought:

The mind has no timeless bound,

But the search of beliefs sought.


Jon Schuck

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