An Agnostic's Prayer

‘Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be thy name’

Uttered words, whispered through devoted teeth,
Falling soothingly, perfectly, like a hand suspended in prayer,
Beautiful and surreal, as if I opened up my palm,
A butterfly would descend triumphantly up into the heavens,
Prayer beads, rattling, synchronised a complying the church bells,
Ringing out in joyous, ignorance, undefeated in this ever changing world.

‘Thy kingdom come it will be done,
As earth as it is in heaven’

A victory of sorts, I think to myself, if god does look down on us,
Would he smile in that satisfying sort of way,
Triumphant that he lives on in the hearts of a few good honest people,
Or would he look as a disapproving father might,
Disappointed yet loving none the less, compelled by a,
Misguided sense of duty, to care for those who have forsaken him.

‘Give us our daily bread, and forgive us our trespass,
As we forgive those who trespass against us’

Dry mouths, empty hands, sad lonely eyes,
Is it any wonder they have lost hope, desserted,
If a father abuses his powers, is it not his child’s right to flee,
Take comfort in the arms of another without the fear of condemnation,
Empty stomach, outweighs empty threats.

‘And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil’

Both those external and internal furnaces that rage,
Fumigated by circumstances, bitter blows that cut deep,
Extinguish hope, shaky frail hands, grasp wooden crosses,
Those comfort the weary, with warm tinges of familiarity,
Embedded on hard weather beaten knees, are dented with veins of indignation,
Spiralling out into empty pews.

‘For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory,
For ever and ever, Amen’

But glory seems diminished for the masses,
Clouded as if by stained glass,
Stagnant in the air, suspended in a mist of hope,
Unravelling at the seams,
A chalice lays isolated, at the feet of a man, with a bewildered look on his face,
Pouring out red pungent lines, comingling, into nothingness or something.