We cannot wrench from the heart
Need
It is an inherited seed
But we can fill its hungry lair
With whispered thought
Turned into prayer
We cannot spell our thought but with this;
Word
Within its twisted ink the heart is stirred
Yet, there is One who hears our wordless sigh
Within a prayer
We spill its cry
We cannot stem longings restless
Tide
With things; they never fill the want inside
But we can shape
Our feeble plea
Into prayerful humility
We cannot tug from the unknown its
Veil
But we can trust in Love that will not fail
And as we reach into the seamless air
We can place our longing, need and hope
Within a prayer
© Janet Martin
‘Words, words, words’, I said yesterday, to no one in particular
as I was listening to something. ‘Sometimes I get so tired of words’.
And without missing a beat Victoria pipes up, ‘but words are all we
have!’
(my silly little sunshine:)

