Baring the Heart
Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2016 8:25 pm
In spite of the noise between them
In our world there are so many
Walls of silence
It takes so much strength
To raise one's hand and tap,
Making sense of the silence
We might not see it,
We might not know it,
But we are all playing Taps
Whether you are sitting in a cubicle
Or flying home from the war in a box,
The walls are the same.
Thin enough to carry the rumor of battle,
But too wide and too cold to carry
The sound of an open heart
Beating in unison, a billion drums
Separated by walls of silence.
But we really are the same.
If there is a difference,
It lies in the way we look for bared teeth and rolled sleeves,
Completely missing the music of an open heart.
The wise man is old enough to know,
You can't waste all your time on the surface
Hands that play at tapping are unstoppable
Once they start digging for truth
One by one, falling, even as younger walls are erected
Walls caving in to the warm touch of the hands of wisdom
Hands who really know how to build.
Walls becoming streets, streets full of life,
Once greed and heartlessness pass into the night.
Stones that once withheld become the chief conveyance.
And the Stone That Was Rejected by the builders,
Will become the chief cornerstone,
When we finally tear down the very last wall,
And tell him his kindgom is ready.
Because what we are building
Is not a wall,
It is a Way to the heart.
In our world there are so many
Walls of silence
It takes so much strength
To raise one's hand and tap,
Making sense of the silence
We might not see it,
We might not know it,
But we are all playing Taps
Whether you are sitting in a cubicle
Or flying home from the war in a box,
The walls are the same.
Thin enough to carry the rumor of battle,
But too wide and too cold to carry
The sound of an open heart
Beating in unison, a billion drums
Separated by walls of silence.
But we really are the same.
If there is a difference,
It lies in the way we look for bared teeth and rolled sleeves,
Completely missing the music of an open heart.
The wise man is old enough to know,
You can't waste all your time on the surface
Hands that play at tapping are unstoppable
Once they start digging for truth
One by one, falling, even as younger walls are erected
Walls caving in to the warm touch of the hands of wisdom
Hands who really know how to build.
Walls becoming streets, streets full of life,
Once greed and heartlessness pass into the night.
Stones that once withheld become the chief conveyance.
And the Stone That Was Rejected by the builders,
Will become the chief cornerstone,
When we finally tear down the very last wall,
And tell him his kindgom is ready.
Because what we are building
Is not a wall,
It is a Way to the heart.
