In Thy Word

Photo by Grehmalyne G. Carandang/THE FLAME

When is a prayer answered?


I have long thought of this,

Ever since my mother held me in her arms,

And when my legs would wobble.


As I sing a song of Hallelujah,

As I solemnly send Him my woes,

I have yet to hear an answer

From the almighty Father.


When hope dissipates into nothingness,

And when faith dances around my fingertips,

I try to resist the wrath of the devil luring me.

In these arms, I bear the heavy weight of my rage,

As I pleadingly ask Him,

Where do I put all of these down?

How do I put all of these down?

Father, why do you not listen to my cries?


The light peers through cinquefoil openings,

Touching the polished, porcelain floors.

And through these stained glass windows,

Colors become an ornament of the sorrow

Haunting these hollow spaces of empty prayers,

Of worries, of pleas, of apologies.

Gone with the light once nighttime falls upon us,

With nothing but the memory of them.


And when the sun rises again,

And when your only Son has resurrected anew,

I find the light gleaming on my windowsill,

Pulling me from the shadow that envelops me,

As if you have once again called for me,

As if you have once again called for your child.


And then I mutter,

“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, 

but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” F

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