Lost Prayer
The wind leans in
against my walls
Tempestuous,
in a melancholy fever
It’s reckless moaning calls
to every sinew
binding me in place
Howling to unleash me
from this empty time
this vacant space
Ripe with the frenzied ghosts
of worthless things
And the hopeless chaff
of words once prayed
Whistling through me
in a screaming choir
“Hail Mary full of grace”
Useless beseeching
carried into the raging gale
by abused and sinful beads
ripped off their chain
The storm is breaking
as my eyes begin to rain
©Cornelia Mattioli aka Flying Angel 2015
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