In Search Of The Spiritual Poem by James Tipp

Is this a spiritual work
Or the work of the deranged?
I am left pondering the distant voices
‘The Cloud of Unknowing’ is just that.
Julian of Norwich might well be sectioned.
Yet here before me lie spiritual gems, I’m told
For me they are lumps of coal
To be burned and turned to ash.
I feel like the boy with the Kings new cloths
Am I at fault for not seeing the sparkle?
Is my perception so distorted?
Dare I cry out loud ‘They say nothing’
They are the babblings of the deranged.