May my praise be poetry
     not greeting card dreck.
For you, God, are superlative.
     And our songs should strive to honor you.

Our lines of love should be lyrical
     not syrupy, tired clichés.
In pondering the divine
     our mouths will fill with immortal speech.

Here are the songs of angels!
     Here are the tongues of fire!
The unspeakable now spoken
     and our humble speech elevated to the sublime.

The eyes grown blind from gazing at distant visions
     retain a spark of heavenly fire.
And mouths struck dumb by the rumbling voice of God
     now murmur brokenly of wonders.

Murmur of wonders. Stuttering speech.
     Seeking awkwardly to stretch the limits of drudging talk.
Perhaps only melody can sing of the divine.
     Pure tone might intimate the spirit song.

Silence! Silence all!
     Quiet the chattering and the roar!
How long before my mind grows quiet
     enough to hear the spirit speak?