Wreathes Of Smoke

This is another of the philosophy-poems that I have been writing for a project called Thought || Language || Poetry. Unlike most of these pieces, this one is new. It is a poetic reimagination of a passage from Simone Weil’s Gravity and Grace.

Wreathes of Smoke

Silence of God.
The noises here below
imitate this silence.
They mean nothing.

When from the innermost
we need a sound that does
mean something —
when we cry out for answer
and it is not given —
it is then that we touch
the silence of God.

We play at making shapes
in wreathes of smoke,
but when we are too exhausted,
when we no longer have the courage,
then we must have real words.
We cry out for them.
The cry tears our entrails.

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