By Ken Woodley
The music of the silently singing universe
hums through the deafening gravity of our human chains.
Each atom rising through the iron clouds within us.
and the hunted dreams of every solar system
circling the relentless sun inside us.
A small, streaming voice beyond the universe
delivers an invitation that flows through our hearts,
splashing its meaning everywhere,
soaking us clear through to the other side of our bones,
filling us with a resonance of no mere reason,
rhyming to infinity with the space inside our souls
where the chains begin pulling against themselves
as our fingers, arms and visions
reach for the invisible all of everything
that holds gently forever on to us
always.
The sound of God’s lips
touching our frost where we were most frozen
and alone
fills the air.
We sip this newfound dew
in communion with each other.
A dove spreads the wings of humanity’s longing
and flies toward the rainbow of our reflection.
Every link in the chain finally snaps when you offer me your hand
and I willingly accept
all of the colors that we share,
kneeling and tasting
your prayers inside me
and all of mine in you,
the chain’s broken links chiming
as they fall into a resurrection
of the flowers we blossom together,
one petal at a time.
The earth and sky one place now.
A garden again.
By Ken WoodleyThe music of the silently singing universe
hums through the deafening gravity of our human chains.
Each atom rising through the iron clouds within us.
and the hunted dreams of every solar system
circling the relentless sun inside us.
A small, streaming voice beyond the universe
delivers an invitation that flows through our hearts,
splashing its meaning everywhere,
soaking us clear through to the other side of our bones,
filling us with a resonance of no mere reason,
rhyming to infinity with the space inside our souls
where the chains begin pulling against themselves
as our fingers, arms and visions
reach for the invisible all of everything
that holds gently forever on to us
always.
The sound of God’s lips
touching our frost where we were most frozen
and alone
fills the air.
We sip this newfound dew
in communion with each other.
A dove spreads the wings of humanity’s longing
and flies toward the rainbow of our reflection.
Every link in the chain finally snaps when you offer me your hand
and I willingly accept
all of the colors that we share,
kneeling and tasting
your prayers inside me
and all of mine in you,
the chain’s broken links chiming
as they fall into a resurrection
of the flowers we blossom together,
one petal at a time.
The earth and sky one place now.
A garden again.
Ken Woodley 