Prayer

There is no fruit in the trees,

There is no soft and serenading breeze.

The sky is gray, the earth, fallow.

The people are dying of disease.

The rich have no compassion.

The poor are desperate, and aching

For change. The streets are filthy,

The young feel lost, and their parents

Are unable to reach them. Each night,

I lay in bed, unable to rest my head,

Because I sense something is coming

Which I am not prepared to face.

My worst fears are coming true,

And I don’t know what to do.

I continue to breathe, however faintly.

My heart beats, though I cannot feel it.

My life, to me, has become strange.

There are many whom I love, but

Where are they? They are far, far

Away. My mind is all tangled up

With desire—so foolish! And yet,

When I remember that You are there,

I sigh a sigh of relief. Whatever happens,

There will always be a prayer to speak.