Prayer is the only thing we have.
For it is prayer, precisely, which draws us,
On bended knee,
To ask that we might share in anything.
Thus, I fear my own arrogance.
For the moment I claim
Anything as a right,
I have forgotten what I am:
A sinner; who has only prayer.
Father, forgive me.
For often my prayers are mingledWith curses, which are a language
Only You may speak in justice.
I easily forget that to praise
Is the language left to the artist;
Pondering, slowly, the mysteries
Which he tries to paint.
As wind blows through the trees,
I am brought to my knees-
Overwhelmed by its strength
And this breath of Life.
This must be the weight of glory.
I am crushed and realize
How beautiful each breath is.