Like the sighing of the ocean waves upon the sand
Is Your voice that calls me to a place of rest.
The tidal ebb and flow marks wetness on the strand;
Your paw prints fill with water as I strain to keep abreast.
It’s the purring of a Lion, it’s the soughing of the sea
That pulls me out of fretting to a place you call delight.
When I feel the anxious chatter and the world things beckon me,
Turn low the blaring volume and pull down the shades for night.
Your voice is indistinct, and when I reach, You seem to fade--
Sound-bytes, trailers, blogs and twitters clamour for my brain:
Or apathetic “chill; don’t sweat it” threatens to pervade--
So doff the sweater called “whatever”--seek a lost refrain:
I’ll know You when I see You and hear Your voice anew;
You’re not tame, You’re wild and free--You’ll do what You will do.