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.