A Prayer for the Lost
Blessed is the water that drips from your tap,
the water that has lived and breathed since time immemorial
and still lubricates our bodies and souls.
Blessed are the holes in my jeans,
for they tell the stories of who I am and where I've been
and where I'm going from here.
Blessed is every scar my body holds;
poignant reminders of my own mortality
and the humanity to which I belong.
Blessed is the waitress at the diner down the street
who brings my iced tea perfectly sweetened
and always smiles at me.
Blessed is the taste of cheap, sour, wine
on those long, lonely, nights
when all I want is to sleep forever.
Blessed is the sky's flawless reflection,
floating silently in a moonlit puddle
only to be disturbed by my own clumsy footsteps.
Blessed is the music that plays in the morning
and awakens me from some enigmatic dream.
Too many times I ignore it.
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