The Voice Whispers
By John Herlihy

I
The voice whispers
Its sacred name.
I know not its origin,
It is there all the same.
Inviting and familiar,
From a realm unfamiliar,
The voice is but breath,
The breath is but hushed.
We hear only if we listen,
Like air on wings brushed.

II
Safe passage on a road paved,
For the pure of heart saved,
In a nearby unseen world,
Whose visibility will soon be unfurled.
The voice whispers of mysteries,
That will never fully unfold,
In this lifetime or the days of yore.
Mysteries if truth be told,
Whose secret will never roar;
Its secret will only be revealed,
Consciously, in a hushed whisper
Before being once again sealed.

III
The mood of the storm,
The beasts of the earth,
The wolf howl of the wind,
The power of the perfect wave,
The phases of the moon,
The color of dawn,
The shadow of twilight.
The mystery surrounds us,
Like ghosts in an attic room,
Who refuse to give up their mystery,
As the wolf refuses to give up the moon.
The devil sweeps everything away,
With the swish of his witch’s broom,
Then escapes into the gloom,
Laughing hysterically and whistling,
Leaving behind his doom.

IV
Destiny lifts us,
With feathered wings.
We hover in the air,
With the mercy life brings.
We are surrounded,
By more than God’s Mystery.
We are filled with His Breath,
From now until our death.
Without His abiding presence,
What can we truly claim?
There is no true identity,
Without God’s eternal name.