No bell,
Whether the sweetest, most deep, or resonant
Makes a sound until struck.
We are like bells
but with the choice
to pull the cord,
grasp the handle,
Or not.
To cover ourselves
In muffling cloaks,
To dampen or distort,
Or not.
We were made to ring true,
To add a needed note
To a divine symphony
But only if we choose
To expose ourselves to truth
Can we be
who we were made to be
Tiny, strong, loud, tinkling
But utterly needed
To complete a chorus of love.