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 bear
Long airborne sonic rivers, rising, welling
Over upon sound-sodden earth, impelling
Our search for quiet sanctuary—where?

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

Neil Millar

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