Praying to you Lord

is like laughing at the wrong parts of a movie.

Following the script,

the proper speech, the ‘Thees’ and ‘Thous’,

the brick and mortar of my ordered prayers,

builds up a wall of silence,

setting thoughts adrift, separating head from heart,

emptying my words of vigor, sapping passion’s potency,

perfecting splendid isolation.

But then I tittle at the hollowness of such fine words,

that speak and speak, yet fail to say.

What if instead we chuckled together, you and I,

at the celluloid shadow of my life,

the drama, comedy, tragedy, romance,

the epically mundane moments

that frame by frame fill

the silver screen of each new day?

Eternity is cloaked in every frame,

each scene in life conceals intimacy’s call.

Hidden in the plot that scripts my passage

you beckon me to share the tears,

the joy, the wonder of the moment.

And yet I have to laugh,

or else to cry,

at all the times I see and see, but fail to grasp.

Until the reel at last unwinds,

the streaming light flickers and is still,

the screen that host’s life’s pageant

bedecks itself in shadow,

and the curtail falls, unveiling eternity.

And with the tale at last full-told,

its victories and routes, its pleasures and its loss,

the tattered ruins of squandered plans,

both yours and mine,

and the wonder of dreams renewed,

we share once more, my Lord,

a laugh at our own expense.