The Bonds of Silence
The time is now, for broken bonds of silence,
heralds of reason before the trial of persecution.
With a word, for a season, tempted by defiance,
the heavens reel with a quiet sense of injustice.
More than a word, more than stealthy locution,
the walls of hell do slowly advance to greet us.
For a child, for the unborn faces of God inside,
we break against the tide of the world and stone.
Thus, for the innocent, in their future do reside,
countless silent names, by their Creator known.
Give me a man, one who walks after God alone,
to raise his voice before these powers of stone.
And too the world looks on, looking for signs,
and so, the moment remains the Father's secret.
Here the world pales in all its shattered designs,
and life will prevail upon that culture of death.
The die is cast, players before the drama are set,
and the smallest are heard with dearest breath.
Raise your voice unto the heavens, to be heard,
like a man, after the heart of God, so in his heart.
Look into these empty spaces, faces for a word,
faces that might have been, faces that will not be.
In the sun and in the cold, fathers for their part,
walk in his shadow, for a man they will not see.
But the graces that bind will yet renew his eye,
and voices in the distance would yet uphold him.
Prayers for a man of life, with love cannot deny,
risen up, envelop souls like the stars of the night.
Like a song, or the ocean singing a sacred hymn,
they sustain the one who would desire it right.
Brian Francis Hudon, September 14, 2011
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The poems of Brian Francis Hudon