Do you feel a pulse throughout the world?

A beat, that surges through your ears and blood?

That wraps you in its effervescent mood,

and leaves you tingling with a dream unfurled?

(The breezes whisper in a hidden rhythm,

Compound a listener fastly to their cause,

Then leave him without question or a pause,

Half-laughing, half-acry at fickle whims.)


Don't cry - the beat is yours, you are the beat.

(God-manifest, hold to the 'pointed task.)

And listen to the words it claims within,

Now loud, now soft, now cool, now haste in heat.

The why is yours; the when (beyond your grasp)

Is still responding to this touch of Him.



© John McNeil. All rights reserved.
This poem may be used free of charge, on the condition that copies are not sold for profit in any medium, nor any entrance fee charged to a performance. In exchange, the author would appreciate being notified of any occasion the poem is used in public performance. He may be contacted at: soul.communication@outlook.com