Scribbles | Prayer as the Will to Speak

Disheveled,

I come forth,

Stringing words,

I, as a child,

Do not yet have.

I trust Your warm listen

Is at my innocence,

The shrieks and the muttering,

Of a mouth, not yet fully formed.

As a child

I try to read Your Name

— the only literacy,

my heart needs.

When I am beheld

By you, I feel,

a build up of a language,

I do not yet speak.

The well spring of

speech

pouring upon the textures

of my heart

flows from this

prayer.

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