I don’t pray anymore.
For my body is unburdened,
From my spirits;
For my heart is locked,
In the sheath of flesh;
And my soul has been devoured,
In the realm of my mind.

I don’t pray anymore.
For I wait no longer,
In fret and despair.
For I unhinged the bar,
To set loose from my fear
And sheer terror.
For, now, I am bound,
To utter intrepid.
A boldness, un-succumbed.
Built on whatnot.
Yet, a great freed.

I prayed.
Once, or twice.
For the safety of my soul,
The relieve of my spirits,
And the lift off my agonies.
Only to rot in hurt,
Of the uncanny wait,
In unyielding anticipation.

I no longer pray, yes.
Not in so many words, anyway.
Or one.
Do not haste to judge, yet.
Or go right ahead
And speculate.

For it is not the frustration,
Or a tantrum in agitation,
Caused by a mere delay,
[Why I no longer pray].
One does not pray,
For a form of repay.
Yet, it is a transaction
Awaited in reckon –
Proof of being heard.
And that is the real bound,
The confinement of the heart,
The bars on the rim of my soul,
And the shackles of my being.

Are you insensed,
For only I told
The truth at the heart
With no limit to my thought?
Or have I tapped
A sore spot,
A sacred truth to remain untold?
Or have I awakened the inner brute?
The one lying beyond,
Now, here unraveled.

I don’t pray anymore.
Yet, I wonder.
If I could entreat once more,
To alleviate the burden,
And the guilt
Of not praying heretofore.