I'll begin with my favorite poem which I used to carry a copy of in my purse:
Silence........by Edgar Lee Masters
I HAVE known the silence of the stars and of the sea, And the silence of the city when it pauses, And the silence of a man and a maid, And the silence for which music alone finds the word, And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin, 5 And the silence of the sick When their eyes roam about the room. And I ask: For the depths Of what use is language? A beast of the field moans a few times 10 When death takes its young. And we are voiceless in the presence of realities— We cannot speak. A curious boy asks an old soldier Sitting in front of the grocery store, 15 "How did you lose your leg?" And the old soldier is struck with silence, Or his mind flies away Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg. It comes back jocosely 20 And he says, "A bear bit it off." And the boy wonders, while the old soldier Dumbly, feebly lives over The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon, The shrieks of the slain, 25 And himself lying on the ground, And the hospital surgeons, the knives, And the long days in bed. But if he could describe it all He would be an artist. 30 But if he were an artist there would he deeper wounds Which he could not describe. There is the silence of a great hatred, And the silence of a great love, And the silence of a deep peace of mind, 35 And the silence of an embittered friendship, There is the silence of a spiritual crisis, Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured, Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life. 40 And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech, There is the silence of defeat. There is the silence of those unjustly punished; And the silence of the dying whose hand Suddenly grips yours. 45 There is the silence between father and son, When the father cannot explain his life, Even though he be misunderstood for it. There is the silence that comes between husband and wife. There is the silence of those who have failed; 50 And the vast silence that covers Broken nations and vanquished leaders. There is the silence of Lincoln, Thinking of the poverty of his youth. And the silence of Napoleon 55 After Waterloo. And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc Saying amid the flames, "Blesséd Jesus"— Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope. And there is the silence of age, 60 Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it In words intelligible to those who have not lived The great range of life. And there is the silence of the dead. If we who are in life cannot speak 65 Of profound experiences, Why do you marvel that the dead Do not tell you of death? Their silence shall be interpretedAs we approach them.
I love this poem because it conveys to me how heavy silence can be. Secrets are often shielded by silence and sometimes the absence of words say everything, yet sometimes the absence of words leaves your mind to try to find the answers to a million unasked questions.
I HAVE known the silence of the stars and of the sea, And the silence of the city when it pauses, And the silence of a man and a maid, And the silence for which music alone finds the word, And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin, 5 And the silence of the sick When their eyes roam about the room. And I ask: For the depths Of what use is language? A beast of the field moans a few times 10 When death takes its young. And we are voiceless in the presence of realities— We cannot speak. A curious boy asks an old soldier Sitting in front of the grocery store, 15 "How did you lose your leg?" And the old soldier is struck with silence, Or his mind flies away Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg. It comes back jocosely 20 And he says, "A bear bit it off." And the boy wonders, while the old soldier Dumbly, feebly lives over The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon, The shrieks of the slain, 25 And himself lying on the ground, And the hospital surgeons, the knives, And the long days in bed. But if he could describe it all He would be an artist. 30 But if he were an artist there would he deeper wounds Which he could not describe. There is the silence of a great hatred, And the silence of a great love, And the silence of a deep peace of mind, 35 And the silence of an embittered friendship, There is the silence of a spiritual crisis, Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured, Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life. 40 And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech, There is the silence of defeat. There is the silence of those unjustly punished; And the silence of the dying whose hand Suddenly grips yours. 45 There is the silence between father and son, When the father cannot explain his life, Even though he be misunderstood for it. There is the silence that comes between husband and wife. There is the silence of those who have failed; 50 And the vast silence that covers Broken nations and vanquished leaders. There is the silence of Lincoln, Thinking of the poverty of his youth. And the silence of Napoleon 55 After Waterloo. And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc Saying amid the flames, "Blesséd Jesus"— Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope. And there is the silence of age, 60 Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it In words intelligible to those who have not lived The great range of life. And there is the silence of the dead. If we who are in life cannot speak 65 Of profound experiences, Why do you marvel that the dead Do not tell you of death? Their silence shall be interpreted As we approach them. I HAVE known the silence of the stars and of the sea, And the silence of the city when it pauses, And the silence of a man and a maid, And the silence for which music alone finds the word, And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin, 5 And the silence of the sick When their eyes roam about the room. And I ask: For the depths Of what use is language? A beast of the field moans a few times 10 When death takes its young. And we are voiceless in the presence of realities— We cannot speak. A curious boy asks an old soldier Sitting in front of the grocery store, 15 "How did you lose your leg?" And the old soldier is struck with silence, Or his mind flies away Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg. It comes back jocosely 20 And he says, "A bear bit it off." And the boy wonders, while the old soldier Dumbly, feebly lives over The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon, The shrieks of the slain, 25 And himself lying on the ground, And the hospital surgeons, the knives, And the long days in bed. But if he could describe it all He would be an artist. 30 But if he were an artist there would he deeper wounds Which he could not describe. There is the silence of a great hatred, And the silence of a great love, And the silence of a deep peace of mind, 35 And the silence of an embittered friendship, There is the silence of a spiritual crisis, Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured, Comes with visions not to be uttered Into a realm of higher life. 40 And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech, There is the silence of defeat. There is the silence of those unjustly punished; And the silence of the dying whose hand Suddenly grips yours. 45 There is the silence between father and son, When the father cannot explain his life, Even though he be misunderstood for it. There is the silence that comes between husband and wife. There is the silence of those who have failed; 50 And the vast silence that covers Broken nations and vanquished leaders. There is the silence of Lincoln, Thinking of the poverty of his youth. And the silence of Napoleon 55 After Waterloo. And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc Saying amid the flames, "Blesséd Jesus"— Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope. And there is the silence of age, 60 Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it In words intelligible to those who have not lived The great range of life. And there is the silence of the dead. If we who are in life cannot speak 65 Of profound experiences, Why do you marvel that the dead Do not tell you of death? Their silence shall be interpretedAs we approach them.
I've read other poems by this author and they lead me to believe that he plagiarized this one because none of his other poems are nearly so profound or thought provoking, though I'm sure he tried his best to make them seem so.
When I have questions and life seems so cold and unforgiving, I look to the book of Ecclesiastes and the book cries with me and agrees with me that life isn't fair. It reminds me that in the grand scheme of things sometimes only God has the answers and who am I to question the Lord? His ways are higher than our ways and his thoughts are higher than our thoughts as surely as Peter expected Christ so conquer Rome for the nation of Israel and then realized at the sound of the rooster's crow what Christ had been trying to tell him all along.
The books of Ecclesiastes and Job remind me that I'm in no position to question God, nor to leave an accusation at his feet, though many times I've done so anyway and then later prayed that he forgives me for it.
The scripture says that nothing done in secret will remain secret, that one day all secrets would be exposed. So many secrets are veiled in silence and I wonder when silence is the answer, who is being protected? Me or the one who remains silent? Believe me, I've had questions in life, mostly about my own predicament, as life has a way of offering those up to us all. How nice it would be if everything was simple. The Lord says that he uses the simple things to confound the wise and the things of wisdom to confound the simple.
I once asked a friend about gravity and I was surprised when he told me that if he knew the answer to that question he would be a very rich man. My theory is that gravity is based on magnetism, that the forces of magnetism are what keeps the planets exactly where they are supposed to be and that they are the Lord's timepiece, that when the time is right, the rapture will take place although I also know that mankind has something to do with the timing of the rapture because at the fifth seal, the martyrs under the altar in heaven ask the Lord when he will avenge their blood which was shed for their testimony of Christ on the Earth? He gives them white robes and tells them that when the number of them is reached that are to be killed as they were........you see, the Lord will only tolerate a specific number of martyrs before he raptures the church. Mankind has the power over that and they have the power to change their minds, but they do not have the power over the second death which is the undoing of the soul in the lake of fire which I believe is the sun.
What a strange thing that what we rely on for warmth and growth, this constant gaseous mass above us which fosters life, is also the thing that will one day be used to........never mind. I don't like to think about how it turns out for those who don't accept Christ.
I'm not like a lot of bible thumpers I know who believe that the Lord leaves people to suffer in a lake of fire for eternity. When the scripture speaks of the second death, I take that to heart, I believe it means what it says. Which makes sense to me because the Lord I know and love is not one who gives eternal life in hell. Eternal life is reserved for those who believe in the third chapter of John, specifically verse sixteen. For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him, should not perish, but have everlasting life.
In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God.......he came to his own but his own received him not.....
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