Opus Clay
The face of God is silence like you've never heard it before.

I am just waking up now, listening to my heart's call.

I am weak, my baby arms thrash for God's infinite care.

Sucking my thumb I cry, I drool, I wait for my life; laissez-faire.

Instead I grow, I am growing, age old truth opening my eyes.

To walk, I thought, I mustn't for who am I to dare.

When silence is broken what sound will I make, where.

But foolish baby is arrogant to think himself quiet,

Fearing his cries might actually unspeak Silence. Child please.

The Word of God is breathing in the lungs of Truth.

There is no end to an Earth in a heart stricken with Love's youth.

Therefore no edge to fall off from except the height of your knees.

Actually, only that and just that. Everything else is free.

The pain, the bruise; blues, sweat and fears; rhythm 'n blood.

The voice of God is action written in real-time, sung in perfect pitch
to your imperfect tune 'cause your Ego is tone-deaf.

Speak. Make. Write. Do. Get on your knees and play.

Note you are in the music of God's greatest Opus; Clay.


May 10th into 11th, 2015