Prayer Life

Just to be clear, this poem is not a prayer that I have prayed, although I can sympathise with what's being said, and I have indeed asked God for help in prayer when things have seemed just too hard. This poem however is trying to describe the problem that humans have understanding that God actually cares, when things are tough. There is a lot of self-obsession in there, and the closing words finish the poem by pointing to how we need God to act towards us. I hope you like it.


Father God,
I can not be – like this – any more
Thoughts are strained out
Paling-away thoughts
Sapping significance even from my closest ties

Lord, what can I do?
The heartache blocks my view,
Yet I never saw it coming.

It affects me in all places
Devastation claims me –
Claim me back.

Feel the stream of muscles in me
Reach limits unknown before
Pursue suffering through and through
Burst their bridges.

Tides budge a dam on its side,
Barrel ahead of my other thoughts.
Why did my mind allow –
If you are you – how could I be so weak –

My inside is turned away,
My breathing dilates, grows closer to the outpoured words
Running free from unchained lips

O God, hear my pleas,
And do not still say
Obligation – and yourself – and others.

Aspects of love

Today's poem is personal, but not because I wrote it - rather because of its content... How do you respond to "love"? How do you offer it? Are you hesitant and fragile, has it lost you or you lost it? Where do you go to find a strong positive love, one that outlasts others?

Enjoy my thoughts, let me know what your response is.

Equally, if you feel I am being too cryptic, let me know about that too!



My love is a dead flower.
It is precious, picked for you,
Cut mercilessly.

Cut off, distant from its source,
Pain excruciating, love everlasting,
Placed into your hand.

Only accept it.

My love's life has passed.
Quiet, still as death-
The very sepals cold and numb,
Embers which have drawn from
The tumultuous fire of life,
Now dull and done.

Each petal separate, yet bound
In a ring around the centre,
Still open and facing you.


My love is like a dead flower-head.
Always dying,
Always offering you love,

Love still going, out-growing,
Even poured out
Amid thorns and cruel shoots.

Words are choked, cut up.

My love which has died
Is better than them,
Has more life than they to give.
They bring blight in each new guise,
Tied attractively, bowed affectionately;
Yet my love remains.

No thorn shall hamper its growth,
No possible thing can hamper
Love's offer

Except you.