A Prayer (From Long Ago)
by T. M. Lowry
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Today I walked slowly down your path O’ Lord, till suddenly I found I could walk no more. There I stood tired and poor in the midst of some where I knew not where. I thought to my self, of what do “I” exist. Suddenly such emptiness filled my senses that my soul departed into nothingness and soon blew away with a gust of wind.
Then one day a soft breeze brought me back to you O’ Lord. Back again and one with life. Once more, my soul retained the consistency of a Rock. I felt whole again, with a new path and pace to walk!
As time doth pass me by so swiftly O Lord, “I” am seeking your infinite wisdom. Praying for prudence in faith; let me not grow old past your offer, that I forgeteth not how to give, as love is life for which thou hath given me all!
Why have I been so long a fool? “I love you so O’ Lord,” and yet why is “love” so hard to explain. Love, could it be so simple that we misunderstand its mercy out of our own guilty fears?
I revere your life O’ Lord. When I think of fear I hide it here, hid within my churning mind. It speaks to me so loud at night intruding upon my aging dreams. It shouts and screams of youthful dreams long forgotten in these wrinkles of time.
Ah yes it must be age I fear. Time, with both arms open runs eagerly toward my soul, snatching away my fleeting youth. A youth that seemed so truly mine. Yet, I know that all my time is but a life you have let me hold. To spend and to form it into this person called “self.” Consequently, all my gifts are signs of your truth, but your truth lies on my tongue twisting inside this growing young man.
With a mindful soul O’ Lord, your truth shall be known within this cracking shell, and sin shall stand outside an aging flesh whose holiness has long been lost. And what little remains if any of holy men, what sum of life hath evil gleaned?
O’ Lord I sit and question a written life of words. For thou art so much more than these marks on paper. Life proves hard to be worthy of when thy grace is so much more than any mans words could ever pertain.
T. M. Lowry
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