not guilt; not fear; but instead the gentle wonderment
of sensing in myself that my own very being has a sense
beyond my self; outside; in some vast frame
which gradually drew me toward the grimy windows
in the vast and granite keep of the Asylum for the Sane
where a silent gentle harmony holds me. Still. Unto itself.
*****
inside, the stuff of conjecture, rumour, ridicule, rebuff;
yet so compelling. Its eloquent harmony
of silence brings a sweet order to the swirling
non-sense of the fatuous self-serving racket
here inside, and soothes my being into a peace and joy
the Asylum may sometimes dampen. But not quench.
the winsome charm of Wisdom, Love and Grace
sustain me for my living in this space
and make me yearn to join them face to face
© the Revd Jim McPherson
Image Christopher Sardegna, unsplash.com
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