conviction
I'm hearing young people all around me in this little room Using the language of Christ.
It's hip now. It's hip here.
And it's killing me. They're not wrong. They're not dumb. They're not evil. They're not cheapening the words they speak.
But...
But where is the conviction?
“What is conviction?” you ask. Conviction is this: The words you speak weight an ounce. The impact upon the hearer is a tonne. That is conviction.
Conviction is this: You speak the simplest phrases, sing the simplest songs in the simplest ways and in the simplest of manners. No ostentation, no affectation, no puffed-up hyperventilation. ——Yet the words themselves scream into the ears and into the hearts they land upon.
Conviction is this: You open your mouth to release a fly trapped inside, and out comes a planet.
Conviction is this: You speak, knowing nothing, yet revealing everything. You no longer care to know, care to be seen, care to be heard, or care to be recognized; yet the oceans become your followers, and the winds your loyal friends.
Conviction is blind Tiresias painting a sunset, Muted Beethoven retelling a symphony, and that modern painter's deafening whisper.
Conviction is everything but—— the cheap exchange of words, and careful synchronization of man-handled doctrine.
Conviction is everything but—— four canned songs and some preaching; a tall building to attract the followers of gastration, and some pamphlets to trumpet the blind leaders.
Conviction is the food of the Four Living Creatures, and the nourishment of Martyrs and Holy Fools.
Conviction is found where it is not sought, and comes with a price higher than anyone would willingly pay.
Some scream the questions, others glibly mock those broken inquisitors; but conviction simply speaks the answer which none have sought after. It dissolves mountains of pain and doubt, and heals the leper with the humility of a whisper.
Conviction is the difference between a program and a revolution, and between embalming and resurrection.
Conviction is what we lack. Conviction is what calls out to us in the stupor of our hyper-connected-disconnect.
tags: #poetry