Moses

Orphan, Prince, Prophet! 

Was His voice 
like thunder roaring? 
Was it like music? 
Was it like a great wind
torn from the center of night?
Or was it a father’s 
controlled whisper? 

He gave you Aaron, 
with fluidity of voice 
like water over smooth rocks.
He blessed your brother,
but, it was you, Moses,
who was lifted in a cloud,
you, who saw the finger
writing upon 
the impregnable stone. 

I think of you, and suddenly
all I seem to remember
is an old man 
written into the silken pages,
who saw the Promised Land
but never entered it.