WordsOut poems by Godfrey Rust  | collection BREAKING THE CHAINS ← 51 of 61 → | home          

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What is that rushing sound
where all has been so quiet? 
Who howls around this house
making the blood run riot? 

Who is it that he seeks? 
What passion in him strains
that he should shake the doors
and crack the window panes? 

What comfort will he bring
or anguish bring about?
What if we let him in?
We cannot keep him out— 

it is the breath of God:
at Pentecost he came
there to embrace his love
in arms of leaping flame, 

a cold and silent fire
that burns within the soul
until it is consumed
into the purest gold.

For a service at St John's, West Ealing at Pentecost, May 1991.