Bobby Ge, Guest writer
Bobby:
Your will, I’m told, is not merely audible
It is loud
It is clear
“As grand, as fearsome as a passing gale
that shatters mountaintops and fells colossi,”
they say.
So I look for you in the sky
hoping, that at just the right time
I might meet your eye in the storm
and then you might show me
all I want to see.
I listen for that grand voice
I hope to hear your fearsome word
and for a second
I do?
but the storm passes
and with it
those grand, fearsome,
distant
claps of thunder…
Your will, I’m told
is loud
is clear.
“As powerful, as mighty as an earthquake
that razes cities and tears land asunder,”
I hear.
So I touch the ground, ear against soil
hoping, that even for a moment,
I might sense something
emanating up from the deep
showing me what I wish to feel.
I wait for your powerful voice
I long to hear your mighty word
and for a second
I do?
but the ground stills
and the sounds fade –
Powerful, mighty
distant
tremors…
Your will
is supposed to be clear.
“As furious, as overwhelming as a raging inferno
that consumes all and cannot be quenched,”
I say.
So I follow the scent of smoke
hoping for something, anything
to rise from the flame –
a sweet fragrance, perhaps,
to show me what I long for.
I wait for your furious voice
I am desperate for your overwhelming word
I hear
nothing.
Are you nothing?
If you are nothing
This world is a wasteland
Dark, empty.
[part 1/2]
photography: Mika Martin on Unsplash (1) & Kim Lionel Rivera (2, 3)
