I say puny prayers,
Not quite half-hearted,
Or half-baked
Supplications,
But unfocused,
Weak,
wanting,
Though I don’t know what.

Zest, Zeal, a major lack.

Where in the liturgical vocabulary
Is the rank order of asking, receiving,
Thanking,
Defined.

Should I be
Begging,
Scourging,
Suffering,

Or merely letting the pain in my patellas
Suffice.

Knowing He despises
Ingratiation
As a slap in His nonexistent face,
I stay away from smarmy platitudes 

Wondering what is left.
My saintliness, feeble as an attempt at
Godliness, is a joke,
A stand-up’s misstep,
A fall off the stage
Into the seven-circled
Orchestra pit.

Recovering,
I hear, a Voice,
Not like kettle drums,
But reeds,
Comfort me.

“That’s okay, My Child,”
It soothes.
“Heaven’s just a rainbow ride away.”

Charlene James
Amissville, Virginia
October, 2017