Notes About The Poem
Written on January 22, 2026
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It Has No Right
Wings settle, feathers light as the glistening dew who rests gently on each tender petal. The crimson edges of melancholy, roaring with the wind’s breath, listen to my prayers and I hesitate, uncertain. Will God hear the hunger in my voice, the famine that lingers, the need far greater than any prayer I’ve spoken in my sixty years? Will He hear, listening for the fear, heeding the tear, welcoming my plea for healing? And, will cancer fade into remission because my voice holds a thirst that I’ve yet to quench, a thirst for a future with the person who sits closest to me in the pew each Sunday, the person who rests his eyes on me first thing each morning, the person who is my person? Will cancer listen when I pray and will it listen when God says for its shadow to fade from my life, leaving only the slight impression of a memory where it once grew into a grief far more severe than the blackest night? It must listen to my voice, my prayer, my praise of the One who is my heart’s resting place at this moment when all else has failed and nothing on earth feels quite as warm as it once did. It must hear the voice of our Creator and realize that it has no right to consume the person that has been my person in good times and hard times. It has no right. It has no right. It has no right.
Wings settle on limbs
Leaving impressions of grace
My heart bleeds prayers
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