Saints of Old

It is no easy
task to be
invisible, unheard, on
the other side of
evident.

One first has to
hear a tree speak
see signs in the sky
touch the Braille of
the wind.

I’ve never been
invisible, and
although I’ve played
at hiding – I’ve
always been found
out.

The saints of old became fire.
Saints today may well be rocks.
And somewhere between

stone below and flame above

I wait on the Voice whose Ear
hears my silence.
I keep my eye on the Eye that
sees me through.

11 thoughts on “Saints of Old

  1. Mary Irene says:

    Stunning!

  2. shoreacres says:

    That first line would have been enough:

    It is no easy
    task to be
    invisible, unheard, on
    the other side of
    evident.

    In today’s world, where total visibility seems everyone’s Desiderata, it does take work to be invisible, and a good bit of faith to believe that invisibility (in the world’s terms) may be filled with riches. I think about the Desert Fathers, the monastics and hermits of the world: or those who devote their lives to good works, hidden away in places as far-ranging as tropical jungles or rundown neighborhoods. They’re rocks, in their way, and we’re lucky if we trip over them now and then.

    • agjorgenson says:

      Yes, indeed they are rocks, and not clamouring for our attention! But if we look in the right way we’ll see them and may learn a thing or two. I think you have hit the nail on the head with your reference to total visibility as everyone’s Desiderata. And it is no wonder that the incidences of anxiety related illnesses are on the rise. Hard lessons to learn when there is so much noise all around us. A little desert is a tonic most of us could use.

  3. Not sure if you meant it that way, but I also keep my (wary) eye on the Eye that sees me through. This is lovely, as always. Thank-you!

  4. Cecilia says:

    So wonderful! Thank you for your poem, for your words.

  5. I have to say it is heartening to see wicked men found out. Lovely poem.

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