Guest post by Owen Swain.

When I visit you say so little
sometimes nothing at all
nothing I can discern

At first this silence comforts me
but later when I leave you
it’s a discord that burns

When I visit you I say too much
always trying to get
mostly to get you to speak

At first is seems purposeful
my busyness, my busyness
breaks down for I am weak

I come because of hope
out of respect; obligation
not for a rebuff

I look at you
you look at me,
I wish it were enough

Should I visit you again,
overcome my disappointment
and my apprehension,

Will you please, dear God,
show me just a little
heaven?

[OWS]