Still He Calls

There is a voice that calls in the darkness.

They say he walked the wilderness

With naught but the clothes on his back.

They say he cried out for days on end

About the coming of the light we lack.

 

Tell me, what is it to be heard?

To shout for joy and sigh in relief?

Is it not a soul giving of itself,

Seeking rest in wicked unbelief?

 

I heard a voice of one calling in the darkness.

A desperate cry as the victory bell rang.

A voice resounding in that wilderness within,

Where hides the blackness of mortal flesh.

 

A voice of one calling in the darkness

Telling of a light.

A light that seeks to enter through

The cracks we fight to keep from view,

Lest we expose frail humanity, wicked insanity.

 

A voice of one calling in the darkness

To be heard by a sea of blind men

Cast upon the waves of confusion and delusion,

Each seeking to rule the day in his own way.

Tell me, have you not heard?

The voice of one calling in the darkness?

 

Tell me, will it ever be heard? No,

For to hear the voice that calls in the darkness

Is to acknowledge that very darkness as our own.

And that we cannot do. We mustn’t do.

For we have made ourselves to be light

And by ourselves we shall be made light.

Tell me, isn’t that how it goes?

 

Bound to live with the guilt we swallow

Drudging deeper into the self-made hollow, hiding.

Hiding from the light that pains the conscience.

And yet unable to escape the voice, yes.

That voice of one calling in the darkness.

Make way for the light you can scarcely see,

Make way for the hope you know you need.

 

Tell me, have you heard?

The voice of one calling in the darkness?

 

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