Prayer of Silent Truth
My cask of praise empty, the last words of thankfulness consumed in the burnt forest, I struggle to the altar heart weary and without solace.
August 25, 2024
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My cask of praise empty, the last words of thankfulness consumed in the burnt forest, I struggle to the altar heart weary and without solace.
The morning won’t deceive you with its freshened air and sound of birds. You needn’t rely on memory; the timeless touch is on every plant.
South wind breaks in waves against the ebbing tide, sunlight falls in shafts on the rain-soaked shore. As I follow the sea’s motion anchors of
Lifted on summer waves, the pulse of life carries us beyond decay. New seeds crack open, revealing pale forms with boneless limbs, aching for daylight.