A thought.it reads:
The paradox of prayer must be
Much like that of man's speech
Of whither and how it should reach
And make real what he wishes to see?
The measure of these words it is not
As treasures sold and those bought
A count, an amount, but if they do repeat
Themselves, such as others quite irrational
Like pi, which infinite repeats not at all
But the repeat of each word is a digit
And best, as the rest, if not from the head
For such words are at best dead
Being but mind's twitch or a mere fidget
But from where? Forget that for now
We may ask, if, if you'll allow
If it is in your thought to compel
My God, who yet may be yours
To withdraw from his heavenly stores
Things which vainglory swells,
Sells low to buy? Why think because
You know his name - take pause
Anything should be granted to you?
What do you know of that man Job
Did he not wear ash and torn robe
For day and night and moons too
And I, the wretch, for a moment saw
A loophole perhaps in cosmic law?
I am not a skeptic for I truly know
My prayer is received, every word
For before, foreknown and foreheard
And the one always present below?
Not always felt for certain and sure
No dewy fleece faith's need to abjure
Or to permit firm courage's lack
Or discretion and temperance to fail
Or working justice to not avail?
You must consider a different tack
And not expect what is simply a wish
This! And none other amiss
alack, alas, a loss or any other cost
For to speak with the beloved is just
Enough, must it all come back to trust?
You may yet get back what is lost
Poet, but not and never for free
This, the paradox of prayer must be.