The Voice


It's too easy.
It's too easy.
They claim His name,
dance and scream on Sunday mornings but
come Wednesday,
when they get home,
when they're all alone
searching for an answer,
searching, searching, 
searching for their God,
they can't hear Him.
Our voices are too many.
Our voices
are their own doing.

She prays and waits and waits
until the wait consumes her,
until her problems grow bigger
than the Father,
until she drowns in her mind
from the confusion,
until she replaces the word
with her own,
until she concludes that
she has been abandoned,
never once noticing
that the Voice was always there.