His Last Prayer

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic


A dying priest offers up his last prayer to his mistress.

Submitted: May 06, 2017

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Submitted: May 06, 2017

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My prayer goes to the lady of wisdom, love and light

To guide me through the shadows of the night

I wish for you to lead me from my plight,

My purgatory;

 the monster, as you know, is raging always.

 

I cannot trust the mind you gave me, seems the enemy

I’m sick, my Lady, are you telling me

To suffer tragedy, expect no sympathy

 and carry on

In naïve hope of better days to come?

 

The days are long and cold. And as I wrote this prayer

I began to doubt whether I was heir

To heavenly reward, as did you swear

In recompense,

Or I was fated forever to sufferance.

 

I read the book again, again, again; where does it claim

To guide me, help me, rescue me – to save

My soul against corruption and the pain

Of this despair?

The book I used to love now seems unfair.

 

I know it’s not my place to whine and beg forgiveness, God,

But then perhaps that’s all I can afford.

When you forsake me, leave me in my hour of

Desperation

As I lie on the sickbed you laid me on.

 

My Lady, one more prayer unto the silent abyss

That is the void that once I thought was bliss

But beginning to believe something’s amiss

My strength has left

And I lie colder than the ground on which I rest.

 

Are you real, my Lady? Or only another ghost

Or evil spirit come to haunt me as I lie.

Whispering to me as you watch me die.

I hear the monster

And his voice begins to remind me of yours.

 

I will hold hope exactly one more day, my Lady.

And if under that timeframe you refuse

Or are unable to deliver me to bliss,

Then I will die,

And all of my life will have been for nought.

 

So, I feel the sickness creeping down from my brain

And as I lie in bed, outside it rains;

There is no tunnel, no lightness, no train,

Only darkness.


© Copyright 2018 E. Shaw. All rights reserved.

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