The Millionth Prayer

In memory of where words used to be
it was easy to say exactly what was meant
now!... words evade, in the shade of unwanted actions

"For i am with you!
My rod and my staff they'll comfort you!"
Even in memory of those words
nothing changes what was done

And as i pray that millionth prayer
the feeling of guilt still hold firm
that ever present thought that remains

When words decide to form
that monologue does as well
simultaneously lessening faith as it builds

As faith begins to dwindle
that monologue grows louder
forcing hearts to believe deep wallowing

Never the less!... that prayer is said
while even  less! no gain is felt initially
just roaming questions to whom you speak

Like faith, "the evidence of things hoped for!
the substance of things not seen"
words must form to inform the word of newness

and where no blood is given
Blood was shed!
a clear voice beckons in the charcoal night

Rustling waters stir silent stares
in an orchestra of crashing cymbals
a single sigh is heard

"Forgive me! Father! Help me PLEASE!"