Thought Less ~ Frank Cavano
Though I would speak the truth to all my brothers—
Papered words, oh reckless birds, begin to fly.
And each letter can call the past its only mother;
Each syllable points to a future in the skies.
So busy is my mind it chokes on phrases.
Cerebral clatter clings, preens and takes a bow.
Yet finds but lonely self to sing its praises
And dreams and reminiscences stifling Now.
If I would speak the truth to all my brothers
Better I seek the Holy Silence of Your Name.
Then to every Truthful Thought would You be Father
And all but Now become a dreamer’s game.
Then each Word would stir each heart like pealing bells
And, oh, each sentence heal this humbled fool as well.