In Slumber, I Pray

though I'm not sure what to say.

Our Father who art in heaven -

I think...

My mind wanders to find You;

did You just wink?

I know you long to ask questions,

just three...

I answer not to desire.

only to need.

Why does one have to suffer

at such a young age?

Why do thoughts push and pull

at us, then leave; do You want them

to be shared, or is it simply for me?

What to do with gifts received

you long to nourish, but rather...

they simply wither?

Says, a smiling figure...

Suffering knows no boundaries:

age, time, nor place,

but don't worry, My love,

neither does My embrace.

Age is merely a measure.

Time? Well inevitably Me.

Place? Suffering has none

where one day you'll be.

The starving cannot share

their only piece of bread;

should they not take a bite

to first become the fed?

It is then they offer

nourishment received;

without tasting their desire

how will they ever explain relief?

A seed is planted, blooms, then dies?

No, it leaves behind the beginning

of a seedling awaiting time.

The flower once planted,

there in patient space,

believes without ever seeing

its provided grace.


© 2016 - 2018 by Becoming Sound.