Tuesday, January 11, 2005


I try to slip away, like a thief in the night,
hounded by shame of what I am.
Horrified by evil abounding, human and more.
I turn away, to wander, I don't know where.

Turn away, to chase my own vision.
If I'm alone I have to do it on my own.

Are you real, do you care,
Will you help the five year old
buried under a mountain of mud?
Will you help me?
God who will not answer,
I turn away from you.

Turning away
turning, turning
until you call.

Your voice sighs on the night air.
It pursues me.
Your voice falls from the sky like dew,
It cover the hills, it surrounds me.
it comforts me
with a blanket of stars.
You call me back to you.

I hear you.
Your voice touches me.
It murmurs. It calls me.
Your voice, I hear it
and I return to you.

I pray.

--UnSaintly Pat

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