Metanoia

Glossolalia

         Glossolalia

What voice should the spirit
of my words take when
unspoken inner groanings
escape my efforts to speak?

Even unknown tongues
refrain from shaping
words not recognized
by ears trained not

to listen but to hear
sounds broken into
refrains that mimic
meaning subtly.

When knowing is transformed
to broken misunderstanding
it is hard to regain the
strength of truth;

truth solid, not shaken
by the winds of words
others breeze into my
wind, insistently teaching.

A way I thought I knew
has dissolved into unbroken
scrub with no path
to dilute the substance,

blocking all thought
from forming sensibly
into actions to be
taken in relief.

Perhaps it isn’t what I wanted
but when that mattered more.