Am in a dark dungeon
Cold and lifeless
Am depraved of joy
Am succumbed to loneliness
And all I need is a voice
I need to hear a cricket sing
Or maybe the blow of wind
I need to hear a paw scratch
Or a talon whisk a rodent
But nothing, all is gloom
“But Paul, you write so many letters
Don’t you have else to do?
The more you write
The likelihood they won’t read
Lest they depart from their faith”
Enough of fat, of bounty food
Enough of debauchery and wine
Enough of laws, rules and drafts
A hungry flesh contents
But a yearning soul thirsts
I finally heard the voice
In a distant cloud, shallow and meek
I finally heard the innocence of life
I finally heard the voice that spoke to my soul
Because it echoed from my lips
But lots like me depraved
Sit in the dungeon
And a voice to rekindle their faith
Is their greatest wish and thought
Why deprive the voice to the voiceless?
Why set rules to reach a soul?
Why proceed with moderation
When all they need is constant supply?