Listen to this poem

The Voice

I hear a voice, which calls me from afar,
I know not what it means nor what it wants,
I hear it now as thunder in a jar,
A muffled voice, but in my dreams it taunts.
It calls to me until I am fatigued,
I try to run, but cannot get away,
It frightens me, but also I'm intrigued,
My heart is bold; my feet are made of clay.
I hear it clearer than I did before,
It speaks to me of things done in my past,
Accusing me of sins that I abhor,
My sins, of which are many, and so vast.
So, I am on my knees and start to pray,
To find some peace, which holds the voice at bay.

by David Ronald Bruce Pekrul