Waxing rhapsodic,
singing great and terrible
ribbons of sound;
Rivers of colored bliss,
the deepest and darkest
opiate of the soul.

Confronted by madness and hope,
pressed in the mind and heart
to rip out the meaning of this,

I stumble,
then fall,
floating through the buffeting clouds of the body.

Silence pervades in the music of life,
and speaks to that innermost part
of unquantifiable mystery
that merges with the leaping ponds
of night’s eyes.

Hail Maria?

Hail Sophia?

This part unspoken
trembles with the heavy majesty
of organ strains,
and dances with choirs
of the harmonic unknown.

Transcendent pillows of air
push and bolster,
then rise up in indignant waves,
sweeping forth in a magnificent glory
augmented by the pounding pulse
of ancient tears.

Speak to me, peace of my body.
Thy silence cruel
destroys mine heart.

Originally published April 2009, republished here May 2017

Like what you read? Give Daniel B. Thompson a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.