In These Hands - Poem by Christopher Cariad
I pray to you knowing
you are real.
I pray for my parents,
the neighbors dog two doors down.
My hamster and
I pray to the keeper of souls.
I knew that God was near
through darkness and in light.
I pray to you questioning,
You are real?
How was this great big ball of gas created?
Is humanity truly made from dirt and water?
If you are real,
Then why do I never see or hear you?
Why did you allow so many bad things
to fall upon this earth.
Why are the sick still sick
and the hungry, hungry?
I pray to you wanting a better life.
Wanting financial stability,
wanting a soulmate.
These prayers focused on personal material passions.
For health and wellness,
prayers out of selfishness.
I pray to you, but not anymore.
You are a creation by the governments
to control our actions.
A nice little bed of feathers with the appearance of safe.
My prayers went unheard,
this world is still the same.
My hands have been the catalyst for creating my fate.
My brain, the guider.
My eyes, the consumer.
I pray to you today.
Knowing the beauty of grace.
Your blood is the healer of all things.
I’ve journeyed to many mental lands but yours, the mountain guiding my way.
I journeyed upon so many paths,
but you wouldn’t allow them to be my fate.
I come to you broken, by the gods of this world.
I pray to you in praise.
I know of the harmony you bring.
Through my hands,
you consume me.
Through my works,
I exalt you.
I have died but yet live on.
I pray with you today.
Hoping this world down bellow
will receive your name.
Preparing for the day,
when you’ll be shining on your thrown.
I pray to you.
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