Poem January 22, 1972 ISSUE

SOUND SHELTER

Neil Millar

Typewriters fling noise-pellets at the air;Telephones spurt their little jets of belling;Throughout the city, rumbling, roaring, yelling,Din burns and beats at every thoroughfare.High up, the sky's translucent plateaus bearLong airborne sonic rivers, rising, wellingOver upon sound-sodden earth, impellingOur search for quiet sanctuary—where?

Why, everywhere. Workers in Love's employ,We listen to Mind only, gain releaseFrom all noise-nothings seeming to alloyTruth's beauty, Soul's delight. Earth-echoes ceaseIn God's deep singing silence, in Life's joy,Here, in the speaking stillness of His peace.

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