Soft Parade of Lightning Bugs

 Soft Parade of Lightning Bugs

(“When he was accused by the chief priests and the elders, he gave no answer.” Matthew 27:12)

Silence speaks as clearly and surely
as the first rays of dawn through the kitchen window.
Believe me, I’ve tried shouting. Drowned out
by iron doors. Muted by theories. Smothered by theologians.
The yelling takes its toll and privilege prevails over
justice and reason.

Fireworks keep me up at night,
firearms puncture the morning,
but a soft parade of lightning bugs
invites prophetic words in miniscule motion.

The silence of a friend who stays till noon is
more welcome
than the clamor who meet to decide what elixir
I need
this time
to be a better example to the gods.
I drank their potions nearly every decade till now
and spoke in tongues so they would quit offering me
the bitter concoction.

I found silence the best therapy,
presence the best tonic. I no longer
need
someone to defend me (I wasted that energy
a long time ago.)
All I request, if the court will allow,
is one or two who, knowing my wound is incurable,
will befriend me (I needed that energy
from then until now.)

But my heart was in my mouth when I heard them
question you.
My face burned when they accused, pious and politic,
the meekest of men to walk this planet. But perhaps
I am more like
Peter,
because I don’t think I would have taken the chance,
put my life on the line,
to speak up for you. (I know now you did not need
me to.)

I’ve been questioned too, and I was guilty as sin.
(That’s where all guilt begins in the gang I used to run with.)
I wanted to be like you, silent. I had far more to defend;
you had the cards stacked against you, they thought you were
going to bomb the Temple once and for all.

Cut short, you never said a mumbling word. My life,
long enough now to know what the right stuff is now,
I say less than I once did.

Love, to be love, sometimes speaks only

In silence.