poetry as prayer and supplication 

O my God, I stand as a single blade of grass
in the vast meadow of Your creation,
a whisper among the roaring winds,
yet made to know You, to bend in worship beneath Your sun,
to drink of Your rain, to rise only by Your will.

I bare witness to this mystery,
to the truth that pulses through my veins like a river:
You have shaped me from the clay of stars,
molded my being from the infinite dust of eternity,
and breathed Your purpose into my fragile lungs.
I am nothing without You, and yet with You,
I am everything I was meant to be.

I testify now, in this moment,
to my powerlessness,
to the frailty of these hands that cannot hold the tides,
to the trembling foundation of my days.
I confess my poverty,
not as one who lacks bread,
but as one whose spirit hungers
for the wealth of Your wisdom,
for the treasure of Your presence.

You, O God, are the strength of the mountains,
the root beneath the tree that will not fall.
You are the wealth of the unseen oceans,
the inexhaustible storehouse of love,
pouring endlessly into the hollow places of the world.

There is no other—none!
No voice calls out as Yours does,
no hand steadies the faltering earth,
no mind holds the infinite galaxies in a single thought.
You are the help of those caught in the tempest,
the anchor when the winds howl and the sails tear.
You are the All-Knowing,
seeing not only the surface of what is,
but the hidden currents of what could be.
You are the All-Wise,
weaving the threads of chaos into a tapestry unseen by mortal eyes.

And so, I stand, small yet eternal in Your gaze,
a spark borne of Your endless flame.
Amen, I sing, a hymn rising to the heavens,
carried on the wings of every prayer ever spoken.
Let this moment be my witness, O God,
as I fall into the vastness of You,
as a wave falls into the ocean,
never to be lost, but forever to belong.