The Hidden Song

© 2001, Carl Thomas Gladstone

I’ve heard a million times or more
blessings come from above,
that through some hole in some cloud
God peeks down and doles out mercy
from a distance.

But questions start to overwhelm
the sugar-center of my Godhouse.
They lick away, like rainy days
on some abandoned peppermint
on some forgotten sidewalk square.

So art thou, God, a stony soul,
a gargoyle peering overhead?
Or are you bedrock laid on Ground Break Day
with all these words inscribed on,

“Bidden or not bidden God is present.
Seen or unseen, held in hands or held in heart,
God is there among you.”

So, “God is present,” but my soul cries,
most because my self-closed eyes,
for some picture of God to shout back,
“Everything is fine!”

The stone said everything, from gurgles to our final breaths,
to all the tales scratched out between,
everything’s in God, and God with everything.
But I’ve lost you while I count my blessings,
lost you while the world’s been hurling hatred,
lost you while I carry others,
lost you while my heart’s been bothered,
lost you in my revelations, lost you in my exaltation.
Although I’ve never been lost by you!

So, everything in God, and I will lend my voice
to praises of the one who walks with us amid the rocks—
the jagged ones that make us fall
the cornerstones that build us up.

So, “God is present,” my soul cries
regardless off self-closed eyes.
Some picture of God shouts back,
“Everything is fine!”

Bidden or not bidden God is present.
Seen or unseen, held in hands or held in heart, everything in God, and God with us.