Still, Small Voice Of Calm - Poem by Bill Grace
Our primordial selves twist skeins
That Twain and Tolstoy have clearly shown to us
That even together we are not so pretty.
Why then the bankruptcy of the Holy?
When astronauts tell of celestial conversions
This seeing of things from afar may be a secret
To unlock a greater power than rocket engines
We have come to trust.
This small voice that whispers in the dark
Comfort of martyrs and guide of saints
That greater deep from which Jesus drew -
A subtle thing - that split his era into two,
A subtle thing this still small voice of calm.
Comments about Still, Small Voice Of Calm by Bill Grace
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl