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When whispers rise, 'Pray for me,'
From lips that claim no they have no belief,                                                                                                     Don't let judgment cloud your sight.
Remember paths can diverge and bend,
There may be reasons that faith may have met its end.

A seed of doubt, a painful loss,
A question of why leaves me counting up all the cost.
Perhaps the atheism wears
A fragile mask, concealing what the care for,
A yearning for a hand to hold,                                                                                                                                        Maybe even a story lift yet to be unrolled.

Don’t elevate yourself above,
By claiming faith, by claiming love,
If love's true nature cannot see,
The common ground of humanity.
We stumble, fall, and rise again,
We are all flawed, both women and men.

Do not think that a label isn't already tattooed on your hand.  
So, respect the choice, the path they tread,
Respect the words they've bravely said.
For kindness holds a magnifying light that could shine eternally bright,
And pierces through the darkest night.

I used to scoff, I used to stare,
At pleas for prayer hanging in the air.
A puzzle formed within my mind,
A paradox I couldn’t find
The sense in. Why would they request
A comfort they professed no belief in.

It's troubled thought and logic that is strained,
A query long but the unanswered question still remains.
But this contemplation, seems to be answered inside of me
only wisdoms seem to stir so I will keep.

For even in the absence it shows,
A different belief has formed inside of me.
A reverence for life, for right,
Like a guiding star shooting across the night sky.
If we demand respect and grace,
For our beliefs, in this time and space,

Then should we not, in turn, extend,
The same regard, to faithless friends?
Respect to those who walk apart,
To silent ache within their heart.
For in the end, we will face the Almighty one,
We face the choices, no matter how great and small.
Who are we then, to cast the stone?
Each soul must reap what it has sown.
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