In Lieu Of Sitting Down to Pray...

In Lieu Of Sitting Down to Pray...

What is the verb for prayer? In our entreating,

is it really the words? Or is it the eyes--the gazing,

their absent minded closing thus losing of our sense

of time. Is it desiring--but how do we know what we're

honestly wanting? With the perpetually--in this life--

unreached deep, it is for now the losing, the silencing

of ourselves and all we think we know--and finally the lingering,

the something to be late for left rudely waiting, still waiting.

The words, we always knew, were far from good enough, but

they serve. A shanty twine-tied raft--tied by broken fingers--

to cross this wrath of holy Ocean. Surely, somewhere

hiding under the supplies, there is a sleeping Christ. 

And as we set our words, ourselves, to water, He will arise,

set His words to the tide, or take us on foot to the other side.

Setting Out

I figured out that one of my favorite things to write is that little bloggy blurb you see at the top there (hence why I've changed it so many times). So I suppose that means I like writing prose poems. I'm not sure what a prose poem is supposed to be or what any of the rules are, but I wrote one here. Perhaps it could be split into lines. I'll play with it, but for now, here it is(and, once again, a cartographer is one who makes maps).  I suppose, as well, that I'll mention that I'm leaving for seminary soon.

[EDIT] I chickened out and broke this up into lines. I like it better.

A Cartographer, Setting Out

With the landscape so open, so ready, it's easy to wander 

aloof--to get lost among sage-like rocks and within luscious foliage 

to brush. But I've come to find the river and chart its course; 

here I am, to follow the eddy to the Ocean and never to return. 

Not to worry, I'll leave the maps I've drawn behind in the sand 

once that's abandoned. And though I'll have loved this lifetime of journey, 

there comes time to lay walking sticks aside: once soil bed and beach 

are behind—when the only thing between my deep and His is either 

myself or the cliff. As of yet, I'm not sure which. All I have to go on is 

this fragment of inscription: "Take up your cliff, and say yes as I did." 

_________

And here is the original:

A Cartographer, Setting Out

With the landscape so open, so ready, it's easy to wander aloof--to get lost among sage-like rocks and within luscious foliage soothing my skin. But I've come to find the river and chart its course; here I am, to follow the eddy to the Ocean and never to return. Not to worry, I'll leave the maps I've drawn behind in the sand once abandoned. And though I'll have loved this lifetime of journey, there comes time to lay walking sticks aside: once soil bed and beach are behind—when the only thing between my deep and His is either myself or the cliff. As of yet, I'm not sure which. All I have to go on is this fragment of inscription: "Take up your cliff, and say yes as I did."