Prayer
There is no prayer, for the dead man in the street
For the pauper who plies his trade
For the traveller with dirty feet
There is no prayer that can eclipse the sun
For what is done is done!
No mourning
Turning cry
No casting shadow
Only dust
And so much lost
In unprayed prayer
Their lives
Waiting to begin in praying
Beyond hands tied down
And lights fragile threads of dawn
The street is full of them
These silent chanting
Unheard prayers that mourn
So many lives
Lit candles
Waiting to be heard
In the darkest light
yvette m smith uk poet may 09
poem by Yvette Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
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