wisdom is silent
not to be spoken to or by anyone else,
it comes to you,
and works through you,
you won’t find profit in it,
no one will be impressed
or love you more for it,
nor will you make more money,
nor appear more beautiful,
nor more wise.

save your words for wisdom,
they are hers alone to hear
and to sing,
that is the meaning
of the sacred,

for never-ending chatter is desperation,
every utterance, an advertisement,
that they’re afraid to hear themselves,
the loud chatter hailing from the lips
drowns the truth in icy wasteland
of the incessant echoes of centuries
rummaging through their bones
shiny, creaking as they attempt to walk
and babble the world of mind-chatter,
crumbling as vowels groan and fall,
until they die in shivers


words are always their weapons,
nooses by which to catch fish,
children with sweet candy,
or to hang their beloved by a chain
honey traps where the bees buzz.

but nothing traps the sacred,
the wisdom that flows through,
like water flows through
unseen tunnels in the earth,

the free lover flows through,
the one who doesn’t hide,
but is as silent as the wind
that cannot whistle,
a light touching upon the ground
of the great dark oceans,
giving them life without memory
that is wisdom without glory
that is power without fame
hush like a God,
internal peace and holi-day
for that is all there is
just you, just me,
just love, John.

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