Inner Voice

Sometimes when the world is filled with the traffic
Of machinations and machinery,
We cannot hear the tiny Inner Voice—
Our agent of moving transformation
From the masquerade of Life’s costumed ball
To the naked place of our dignity
Where Spirit and Beauty enjoy proximity.

Knowing that we’ll eventually listen,
This Inner Voice awaits us patiently
Longing to murmur the words we could use
Barricaded against the cacophony of
The presence of later
The absence of nature
The business of doing
The pursuit of eschewing
All the while whispering softly:
“Herein lies the Truth.”