The Voice of God

For a time,

Maybe years ago,

Or maybe minutes ago,

I would sit or maybe stand

Glimpsing my reflection

In a blue, clear liquid

And contemplate on one terrible idea.

For that liquid would soon

Turn to a crimson red

And then maybe Raven black.

My eyes forever shut

And darkness would consume me.

Seconds, and a voice whispered

A strong but powerful tongue with

Such a quiet temper I almost didn't hear

Its sweet melodic speech.

I proclaimed to my dead heart:

"Stop do not do this, My Child,

For I have always loved you,

And you were not meant to die today."

Once more those soft pulses came back.

Soft crystal brushes at the side of my face

Came down slowly.

Tears of happiness instead of

Tears of pain and suffering

For which I have cried so many times before.