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  • Writer's pictureTCCT


What was the point of going there

except to be apart, to leave behind

the babble of the voices that could never know

how many angels there were dancing on a pin.

This was beyond a place where silence spoke –

A few fields scattered in between the rocks,

A well of water for the quenching of their thirst

And beehive cells for shelter come the dark.

These were the simple things that made their lives.

What mattered more was breaking through

from out of solitude and quiet, now and then,

Into somewhere else; a realm

where they could know the voice of God,

that took them from the ordinary

into a deeper light and out of time.

Poem Kenneth Steven

From his latest book of poems

Out of the Ordinary

Used with permission

All rights reserved

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