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Quotes about God of Empty Spaces

White Shadow

Ten coaches roll into the dust
Chrome windows turned to rust
'hand on inside they know they must
Hanging on the green backed words "in god we trust"
No one knew if the spirit died
All wrapped to go like kentucky fried
Tring to read the flight of birds
Low on fuel, getting low on words
And she comes out like a white shadow
She comes out like a white shadow
Each one drawn to empty spaces
Outsiders, borderline cases
It's hard to tell black from white
When you wake up in the middle of the night
Weighed down by the absence of sound
Broken now by the cry of a hound
Looking for movement withing the haze
Light can be deceptive with her rays
And she comes out like a white sadow
And she comes out like a white shadow

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Disgustipated

And the angel of the lord came unto me. snatching me up from my place of slumber, and took me on
High, and higher still until we moved through the spaces betwixt the air itself. and he brought me into a
Vast farmland of our own midwest. and as we descended, cries of impending doom arose from the
Soil. one thousand, nay, a million voices full of fear. and terror possessed me then. and I begged:
angel of the lord, what are these tortured screams? and the angel said unto me: these are the cries
Of the carrots. the cries of the carrot. you see, reverend maynard, tomorrow is harvest day, and to
Them, it is the holocaust. and I sprang from my slumber drenched in sweat with the tears of one million
Terrified brothers and roared: hear me now, I have seen the light. they have a consciousness! they
Have a life! they have a soul. damn you! let the rabbits wear glasses. save our brothers. can I get an
Amen. can I get a haleluia. thank you, jesus.
This is necessary.
Life feeds on life.
It was daylight when you woke up in your ditch. you looked up at your sky. that made blue be your
Color. you had your knife there with you, too. when you stood up, there was goo all over your
Clothes. your hands were sticky. you wiped them on your grass, so now your color was green. oh,
Lord, why did everything have to keep changing like this. you were already getting nervous again. your
Head hurt, and it rang when you stood up. your head was amost empty. it always hurt you when you
Woke up like this. you crawled up out of your ditch, onto your gravel road, and you began to walk,
Waiting for the rest of your mind to come back to you. you could see the car parked far down the
Road, and you walked toward it. if God is our father, you thought, then satan must be our cousin. why

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The Jolly Company

The stars, a jolly company,
I envied, straying late and lonely;
And cried upon their revelry:
'O white companionship! You only
In love, in faith unbroken dwell,
Friends radiant and inseparable!'

Light-heart and glad they seemed to me
And merry comrades (even so
God out of heaven may laugh to see
The happy crowds; and never know
That each in his lone obscure distress
Each walketh in a wilderness).

But I, remembering, pitied well
And loved them, who, with lonely light,
In empty infinite spaces dwell,
Disconsolate. For, all the night,
I heard the thin gnat-voices cry,
Star to faint star, across the sky.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Second Book

TIMES followed one another. Came a morn
I stood upon the brink of twenty years,
And looked before and after, as I stood
Woman and artist,–either incomplete,
Both credulous of completion. There I held
The whole creation in my little cup,
And smiled with thirsty lips before I drank,
'Good health to you and me, sweet neighbour mine
And all these peoples.'
I was glad, that day;
The June was in me, with its multitudes
Of nightingales all singing in the dark,
And rosebuds reddening where the calyx split.
I felt so young, so strong, so sure of God!
So glad, I could not choose be very wise!
And, old at twenty, was inclined to pull
My childhood backward in a childish jest
To see the face of't once more, and farewell!
In which fantastic mood I bounded forth
At early morning,–would not wait so long

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poem by from Aurora Leigh (1856)Report problemRelated quotes
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The Door Of Humility

ENGLAND
We lead the blind by voice and hand,
And not by light they cannot see;
We are not framed to understand
The How and Why of such as He;

But natured only to rejoice
At every sound or sign of hope,
And, guided by the still small voice,
In patience through the darkness grope;

Until our finer sense expands,
And we exchange for holier sight
The earthly help of voice and hands,
And in His light behold the Light.

I

Let there be Light! The self-same Power
That out of formless dark and void

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Tithonus

The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan.
Me only cruel immortality
Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms,
Here at the quiet limit of the world,
A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream
The ever-silent spaces of the East,
Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.
Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man--
So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd
To his great heart none other than a God!
I ask'd thee, "Give me immortality."
Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile,
Like wealthy men who care not how they give.
But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills,
And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me,
And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd

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Winter-Store

Subtly conscious, all awake,
Let us clear our eyes, and break
Through the cloudy chrysalis,
See the wonder as it is.
Down a narrow alley, blind,
Touch and vision, heart and mind,
Turned sharply inward, still we plod,
Till the calmly smiling god
Leaves us, and our spirits grow
More thin, more acrid, as we go.
Creeping by the sullen wall,
We forego the power to see,
The threads that bind us to the All,
God or the Immensity;
Whereof on the eternal road
Man is but a passing mode.

Too blind we are, too little see
Of the magic pageantry,
Every minute, every hour,

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The Witch of Hebron

A Rabbinical Legend


Part I.
From morn until the setting of the sun
The rabbi Joseph on his knees had prayed,
And, as he rose with spirit meek and strong,
An Indian page his presence sought, and bowed
Before him, saying that a lady lay
Sick unto death, tormented grievously,
Who begged the comfort of his holy prayers.
The rabbi, ever to the call of grief
Open as day, arose; and girding straight
His robe about him, with the page went forth;
Who swiftly led him deep into the woods
That hung, heap over heap, like broken clouds
On Hebron’s southern terraces; when lo!
Across a glade a stately pile he saw,
With gleaming front, and many-pillared porch
Fretted with sculptured vinage, flowers and fruit,

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The Things I've Lost

in the things i've lost i found god....
not in the things themselves,
but in the empty spaces left behind!
in moments given and forgotten,
in laughter that never took a name.
in the sound of breathing that is peaceful sleep,
in the tiny light of a single flame.
in random snowflakes that need not redemption,
in callouses that become the hand.
in stories shared with small children,
in the sky seen through a prison window.
in the dog curled against my feet,
in a meal shared with strangers.
in the beautiful eyes of the dying child,
in the touch of the old woman's hand.
in the sound of wings saying farewell to autumn,
in the crunch of frost covered grass.
in the anger of my enemy,
when we both sat down to talk.
in the stories old boots could tell,

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Dementia (Death Poem)

A slow death, in eons of unremembered moments,
Like a dark star, she collapses into herself every day,
Fragments of her past memories intrude sometimes,
Incomprehensible now, like they are all in Russian.

This existence she hates more than life itself,
Flowing like an unending river, towards a sea,
Days of sleep, interrupted by family strangers,
Wearing her precious necklace and others’ clothes.

At times I am 'Who? ', until her son is introduced,
Which produces a 'Happy to see you' smile, and
Complaints that no one ever comes to visit now,
She is living in a nightmare of empty spaces.

Her now ungraspable tranquillity, her living hell,
Punished for imagined sin, she now doubts God,
But wants to go home to Him, to ask 'Why? ”.
She believed the childhood promise of heaven.

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