Praying man

 

I watched him pray, this young man of hope.

With eyes humbly closed,

He joined his palms, close to his heart,

as if to cradle,

a few pieces falling apart.

I fixed my gaze on the praying man

and wondered what he was praying for.

Could it be for his family

or for himself,

This man had me wondering all to myself.

Was he offering gratitude

or beseeching forgiveness?

Maybe a prayer for the world,

and the ones who cried,

Or wishing for strength like the ocean’s tide?

He transcended from chaos to bliss as he prayed on,

through the night that preceded another dawn,

The breeze softly brushed his ebony hair,

as the angels shielded him from evil’s lair.

He was  peaceful,

yet inside him there was a storm that raged.

He was a beautiful sight,

praying in a world ever outraged.

This praying man got me praying me too,

for a heart that is mighty and a mind that is true.

As I looked at him with longing eyes, I prayed for the praying man’s dreams to be fulfilled too.

 

 

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