once it was said
how a prophet searched
for your voice
on mountaintops,
in temples,
by the sea with waves
crashing ever shore-wards,
through a storm
as thunder pealed
and lightning lit
the night sky like day,
and finally
in the stillness of a cave.
i have no idea what
was heard
and they’re not here
to share
at any rate.
just this little
voice remains,
more like a child
than that of a saint,
a scribe who makes
these paltry marks
to remark
on what feels
so eminently… remarkable.
maybe that’s all
anyone ever heard
on the day of their call —
an inner voice
strong enough to stir them
into collective action
through your name,
taking a stand
against all that man
is sadly so humanly
capable of?
and seemingly
in vain,
once it was said…
