Awaiting Silence

Sometimes the thousands upon thousands
Of pages of wisdom
That flex their spines at me
Offer no consolations, no insights for my heart and mind
They are an ocean of consonants and vowels
Of what I should be
How I could think
How I must live
But I lack St. Exupery's desire for the sea
Even the most sacred of them all
Sometimes seems to offer only stale bread.

So I sit here
In the home office
In the silence
Awaiting silence
From the silence that speaks into silence
Not knowing whether to listen or speak first
Or even what I would want to hear
Caught between faith and reason with attacks of apathy,
Unable to synthesize
For the moment.