Strange Fire

 
 
I regret silence  
on things that matter,  
Yet I know  
that I  
know  
nothing  
of lives and souls afflicted,  
So - hesitant, scared of getting it wrong  
I have no speech,  
only tears  
of frustration and lament.  
 
So I will sing my distaste  
for those who profess expertise in love  
but instead preach division,  
Who obsess over activities of genitals  
while ignoring the quality of hearts.  
So trapped in idolatry of printed words,  
they live in fear of condemnation  
while truth eludes their calcified souls.  
I pity their blindness.  
Yet humility bids me to question,  
What blindness of my own am I blind to?  
I live in the same tent, after all.  
 
I borrow words and melody  
from those who know better than I,  
Sing of the force that moves all things,  
that beautiful, strange fire --  
Who are we to confine it?  
In boxes we try to bind it,  
codified with a binary  
of zeroes and ones to define it.  
 
I sing to set the Word free from page,  
let it drift in subversive waves,  
so desperate to convey this gentle rage,  
it’s my only means to make hearts engage.