A Kind of Prayer
I am on my knees,
and yet I'm nowhere
nothing is sore,
it's just my soul,
that pretends it knows,
I am changing,
no - there is no transformation!
love is alive,
and yet it is dead,
you don't know you...
the world would definitely
change, or we would know it,
you know everything,
when nothing is what you want,
zero is not empty,
it fills vacuums, all the time....
I want to punch you - fresh air!
or get up off my knees,
these carvings of emptiness,
invisible statues of cares...
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Comments about this poem (A Kind of Prayer by GRANT FRASER )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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