Be Still

Father,

Talk to me, . . .

"I am holy,

I love my children,

You are mine,"

I lay here

I see upward

To familiar ceiling,

I see my chandelier,

Still as frozen ice

Not a one,

Of its crystalline

Suspended pendulums,

Move

Though the yonder

Mountains shake,

And wars,

And seas roar

While volcanoes bellow,

Angry fire

No,

not the tiniest,

Quiver,

Of this chandelier

And yet,

This earth upon which,

Our solid floors

Of unseen depths,

Sustain our every move,

We swarm

We move,

While imperceptably,

At an eternal,

24,000 mile per hour

We on earth spin,

Like a top,

A perpetual motion,

By unseen energy,

It spins our planet,

As we ride

As we hurl around

Said bright star,

Its notice only,

While it burns on us,

When at times we suffer . . .

. . .

Immense movements,

Even while spinning,

In fair straight forward orbit

Like as you spinning

While walking to market

Or destiny of choice,

Together we travel

around,

Our Alpha Centaurous,

Named Star, . . .

. . . But still,

My chandelier,

Its pendulum

Body,

Does not, . . .

Even in the slightest, . . .

Even in the tiniest,

It does not

Move, . . .

. . .

"Be still,

And know that,

I am God." . . .

My Father says