Poetry

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Prayer Voice

They were afraid
of His power.
In a country that
exploited power.
It made sense.
They rarely saw
power used rightly;
couldn’t imagine
a healing submission;
didn’t dare dream
of a deepened intimacy
so they safely prayed to
Him with their mind
not so aware of their heart.
But she knew how to pray
in her heart and spirit -
The place that is most
closely connected to Him.
She found the tender place
of her heart and let her
voice come from there;
let it say it’s own words
when they came and could be
understood and some mysterious.
Sometimes a ting and a spray
of moving exotic music
from another land
from a time to come
would flutter through
the leaves of His trees
like wind chimes
if the Lord pleased.
But that sound was
sometimes released.
When it did it was so free.
And other times
it was so hard to speak out;
just sounds of pain of a
child to come out
but still undeliverable;
not quite ready.
I don’t know much,
but that much I know
It ain't quite spoken
just right, but that's
the best I can describe
of the voice of some prayers.

H. Stone © 2005

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