Hushed Hosannas...

"All-of-Creation" whispers that You are there.  She wishes to shout and to sing of Your abiding, but, at Your wish, is muted from crying out Your Glad Hosannas..., for You wish for those "Created-In-Your-Image" to do the singing.

Oh, how the Grasses and Trees wish to sing Your Name.  Roots long hidden under their Earthen beds long to burst forth from the ground and to stretch their vined, sinewy arms toward You in adoration; but they lie still for human arms to stretch jubilantly forth, which, fully, never come.

The Jay and Red bird sing morning songs of Your glory while men still sleep..., they are more rebellious in their worship, you know? But quieten at the stirring of Those awakening from sleep.  But, oh their song, if  not caged, were allowed to sing.  The Earth could not take upon its ears the sound of that feathered choir.  They were patterned after the worshiping Angles, but now, hushed from singing, are only allowed morning hums to You.

The Trees do stretch and sway and requested before You created man, and quieting them, if forever they might raise their hand-branches toward You.  You obliged them.

"All-of-Creation" now groans of the sin-pollution spilled upon its ever bowing Oceans.  The Sky burns with tears the wreckage man has made, seen upon her irises, for she beholds daily, mans' evil from every vantage point.

The Rocks once rebelled, or attempted to, against the Divine-Gag-Order when Your feet walked upon its Ground.  They would have cried aloud the glad Hosannas but "Born-of-Man" gave the stage to those "Made-in-His-Image," and on that day, man did sing.  They broke the arms of the Palms so man could worship You.  And the Palms made no complaint to be broken and trod upon by the One yet to be broken and trod upon.  On that day, the Palms got to sing hushed Hosannas that were drowned by the singing of men.  They were glad of their morning Opus unheard by any ear but Yours.

The Timbers, used for building houses occupied on Sundays, mourn for the song they hear coerced from man in ritual revels that fall flat under their rafters raised to Him.  They can't comprehend the blank stares forward and the in-jubilant manner in which "Those-Meant-to-Sing" drone on from habit and not from heart.

"All-of-Creation" mourns for the songs that are meant to be sang from those "In-His-Image" that are traded for silence and indifference while "All-of-Creation" bites its tongue.