This Path


I walk This path Empty But for dust balls Of shame I have prayed For redemption But from what? I am Still unsure The rosary Of my prayers Countless And still Unanswered Silence Shadows me As I walk This empty Dust filled path. Pray, they say God answers. Wishful thinking Made powerful By repetition. Yet in the Silence that surrounds me No answer Is given And I walk This path, my Path of shame...

In Praise of silence


In a world often dominated by noise, silence has the power to make us anxious.  The space of silence makes us uncomfortable and we want to fill the space with something, anything to distract us. I experienced this the other morning.  I was meeting a friend for breakfast and caught rideshare DiDi to where we were meeting.  Within 30 seconds of getting into the car I realised...

The spaces of silence


Rain drops Drum with Rhythmic certainty. Disconnected patterns Of accidental Design, thrum In my mind. I lie Suspended between Two states, waiting While thoughts Subside into neural Swamps of Slumber It is, in The in-between, In between thoughts In between falling drops There is A second of Stillness Not the stillness Of nothingness Rather, the Stillness of Silence. Eternity’s Inbreathing The...

We are the silent sons


We are The silent sons Of silent men. We were Not born This way, But have Grown so. Slowly silent A severity, We were told For our own good. We climbed Our fathers Mt Moriah, To find No sacrificial lamb But us. Our father’s God, Content to sacrifice His sons. To bleach their Bones, on the Alter of respectability. Grey suits Crushed into Conformity. I am the Silent Son Of a silent man, Yet silent...



Words formed

Flow, with metronomic rhythm,


Consistent cadences

Stultifying, then

Suffocating silence.

She weeps

In stillness,

Does silence.

While words

Trade their


With finery


Fascinating the

Foolish, with

The sounds

Of pyritic wisdom



There was Always Something To do There was Always Someone To help There was Always Somewhere To go There was Always, the Frenetic Feverishness That mocked Us, with Monotone Monotony Gnawing at Our dis-ease The virus Of modernity Coursing through Us, with restless Agitation and Inferior insecurity II There was Always God All seeing All knowing All intrusive A recurrent Theological infection In the...