Psalm of a new man

said men to creator
no time to talk
the blur of code and meter
replacing the gaze into the eyes of needful children
this indeed is the torrent of the age
the desperation of a solitary form
surrounded, yes, enveloped by hollow souls
that shuffle through the carnival
of closet sins and forbidden alleys
the madness of concrete
that hide the paths ripe with shades of furtive green
the towers of steel that rise in false eclipse
of the melodic choir of mountains
and the depths of unseen oceans
too vast (this is true)
too old (always new)
His Name
Abba Artist
is whispered in the untamed ballet of forrests
and the reckless brush-stroke of rushing rivers
God, may the stones be silent
as I shout
You
only You, I bless
are true
and right
and pure
and
yes...