Cloud of Unknowing

How strange it is – and yet, why should it be? –
that all things seem to live most unaware
of that which gives them life itself to live;
so see the All as always everywhere?

yet from the jungle, or a city’s heart,
the sound of praise does not unceasing rise;
and we may tread a springtime’s flowered field
and hear no coloured choir of grateful cries..

why has our Lord Creator set it thus,
and hid His love from His created things?
What might He ask from us, in this great game,
that once again may hear the song He sings?

His are all powers; and yet, He chooses these
above so many other powers to wield:
that with one hand, His bounty He conceals;
yet with the other, all His All reveals…

Children, laughing, play at hide-and-seek;
act out the semblance of this mighty game
which some may never play; for some, life’s work;

what then, our part? To seek His playful aim?

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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