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A Still Small Voice

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From what corner of the heart do these urges come from?
From what part of the imagination is it that these things are felt evident?
That to be called away by senses and feeling is to be taken some place quiet
Where only the rustling of the trees and the
Notes of a distant wind chime can be heard;
And the only other noise is that still small voice inside your head
Speaking softly, almost so that you cannot hear it;
And if you can’t hear it, you can feel it.
Just as you cannot see the wind stirring around you,
You can feel it against your bare skin.
So is the still small voice which peaks to you,
That tells you things no one else would,
That perhaps no one else would know.
You can speak to this voice also,
And it responds with a soothing,
Yet strong and reassuring voice
That tells you what do in your time of need.
Is it your own senses from which this voice comes from?
Or is it something greater, outside of your own ability?
These comforts the voice gives are of a friend,
Who is far more powerful than you,
That is always there, and whom you can count on and trust.
Just listen, and you can hear…





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