On Speaking Up, a poem

Constantly risking absurdity or death,
Said Ferlinghetti about the poet’s speaking up;
And yet weekly I walk a half hour
Tight rope strung taut between
The twin poles of divine transcendence
And human immanence,
An absurd dying and rebirthing
That is no real risk but a lived reality
Where everything and nothing is on the line.
This is my speaking up
In the face of apathy to things divine,
The disenchantment of the universe,
Blindness to the prevenience of grace
And the weary human capitulation
To every oppressor: sin and death and devil.
I know at any moment the crowd
Might snap awake and hear far more than I’m saying
And God knows what hell might break loose then—
What demons defeated—
What wounds healed—
What raging waves stilled—
What burning questions fanned into flame?
The only fear greater than fear of this
Is the fear of saying nothing at all.