A work in progress
08/29/2004 10:26 p.m.
How many days
Swept past in the wind
That I did not pray?
Oh my Father, how I must have grieved
Your holy, merciful spirit!
Wanton child of heaven
Thoughtlessly frolicking
In ripened field of days
Iniquitous conscience
Careless songs at the top of my lungs
As if I might have a voice forever

How many nights did I lay my head down
Supplication of false peace;
A slow pot, ready to poach my soul.
How many curtains fell upon me
Without the names of my children,
My husband, on my lips
But You have not forgotten them or me
Faithful reflection of my faithlessness
Oh my Father, drenched eyes
Cannot bring back the years
And yet those tears fall on my heart
Finding the soil moist and ready