Sometimes it is like that

There is a voice, and I listen,
There is a silence so great you could hear a pin drop,
Except there is no pin, and no floor.
Nothing to call solid ground.
Timeless, all stillness.
Nothing here but the voice,
and my heart trembling.
Sometimes God's presence is like that, sometimes.

Other times it is all pins and other debris,
All dirty, cluttered floor,
The reality of life crowding around me,
and the noise!
Struggling to find a broom to sweep a space,
Where I may sit and listen,
To the voice speaking quietly still,
Sometimes it is like that.