Written April 2003. Revised ever-so-slightly since then.
When being tired is the only prayer
My eyes are open and want to be closed. My brain is tired. It's raining. My lower back is sore. I lie down and begin to snore, and wake myself up by doing so. Too tired to read, I pray for friends both far and near. It is dry inside. I pray for those outside. God is above, beside, within: the preserver of our words and the refiner of our silences. I do not speak to God, but wordlessly offer this day and this exact point in time, of damp that wishes to be dry, of cold that wishes to be warm. Do I wish myself more awake, or less spent? It is good to be tired, even exhausted. It is good to have survived the day's minor pains, to have been cheerful (or was I?) in vexation. And now a space of time to rest. It is fitting, meet, and just.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
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Written on 2019-07-19 at 11:35
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