Strides of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend, / I’ve come to talk with you again

Because a vision softly creeping / Left its seeds while I was sleeping…

- Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel, opening lines of “The Sound of Silence”

Strides of silence in silent night

Rouse my soul from restless slumber,

Draw me darkly through blackest light

To moon-swept miles without number.

“I am a runner!” shouts my soul

In stormful sleep, in shredding shade.

Gift or burden, I am not whole

Until I pierce nocturnal fade.

Darkness cloaks me, my friend forlorn,

Under a star-punctured ocean

On paths my feet, tired and worn,

Tread soft now in deep emotion.

Now’s my time to hear my Maker,

To feel God’s pulse before the day

Spoils the peace that has no taker,

Save one runner on placid way.

We’ve talked before, both God and I,

In this world of meditation

About my purpose, what and why,

In this plan of God’s formation.

How do I know this path is right?

How can I in this darkness see?

Will my Lord call me in the night

And lead me where I need to be?

For you alone can set me free,

Lord, you alone can light my way.

You alone hear my plaintive plea

And lift me to the dawn of day.

Milky beams mesmerize me still

In radiant pools of whiteness

And lead me to the windowsill

Of eternal truth and lightness.

At tunnel’s end my spirit’s flight

Illuminates the Godly grail

And focuses the end of night

In fervent faith that cannot fail.

If in life we are but tenants

Of time and space in earthly fray,

Then in strife we do our penance

And win our freedom from decay.

The sky ignites now rosy east,

Burning like a flaming fountain

And serving me a fragrant feast

To fuel my climb up the mountain.

Nightshades lifting across the sky

Take me home in dew-dappled light

And feed me full the runner’s high

In visions veiled by splendored sight.

Through the melting meadow I run

To my dawn-flowered finish line,

Striding my lightness to the sun

And finding there my peace divine.

Homeward bound on wings of morning,

My spirit makes its recompense,

Uncloaked from its frailed forlorning

And raised by these strides of silence.