There was no voice,
Or perhaps there was a
Voiceless voice -
So soft,
so small
it could only be heard
just beyond the borders
of my hearing.
It sang anyway,
that voiceless voice.
It ran through my body
and burned my hands
which lay idle at my side.
It drummed a beat
that moved my heart,
that moved my feet
in surprising syncopation.
Not a waltz
Nor a tango,
but my idle feet,
idle as my hands -
my idle feet
Moved.
They danced with the
voice that was no voice
that had no sound,
but it sang in my heart
And burned my hands
And beat in steady rhythm
And so I danced.
And sang the song
of the voiceless,
of the voiceless,
and stumbled on broken bits
of shattered tablets.
For Isaiah 1:17
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