A Pilgrims Prayer Poem by Lisa Nickle

God spare the heart of those to wander
though their feet know where they go
their souls are broken pieces
that only angels know

Hold those little pieces
with a grip as strong as vice
until those hard worn crystals
turn to brilliant bonds of ice

And from that ice grow fire
for the two go hand in hand
to burn that soul and temper
until its bright and grand

When I grow old
for old I will
I hope to stand at the edge of life
and know that my old heart is spent.
That I loved more fiercely than a body could manage
and so the fire has shrunk to the coals
and yet
still soldiers on.

I want to know that the breaths given me
were spent in praise and adoration
in lullabies and ballads
and that every word formed by my lips
was a rock to build another up.

I want to know that the scars on these hands
are from battles waged with stubborn pens,
fidgety children, and all things electrical.
Because you know I have always been helpless in the kitchen
But it takes special touch to scrub out grass stains
and to hold a good man’s heart
and with an out stretched hand
I have always asked for more.

When I grow old
for old I will
I hope to stand on the edge of life
and leave all trespasses at the door
because I know that grace means forgiveness
and that even heavy hearts can find their rest.
I hope to find myself
on the edge of life
ready to jump.