Lost To The Wind Poem by Lora Colon

When I think of days and nights I have spent
Begging unresponsive deities,
I now wonder if that time should have been used
Savoring life's wine, instead of on my knees

So many prayers that rose like curling smoke
From a heap of dried smoldering leaves,
Rising upward, supplicating a response,
Were they lost in some galaxy thick with thieves?

I fear not one reached its destination -
Am I naive in my conclusion
That perhaps my prayers were feckless and garbled,
Or dismissed in a moment of confusion?

No! My prayers were delivered distinctly,
But to each one futile hope was pinned;
Too often these hands folded reverently,
While my supplications were lost to the wind

Now the rivulets are too cold to flow,
And the trees have donned their robes of ice;
No longer will these hands be joined together
Pointing upward, trying to reach Paradise

Such things are not accomplished by begging,
I turn my back and scoff at the rules
Of a game won only by the most cunning,
While faithfully observed by cowards and fools

I will not survey the devastation
Strewn in paths I've so faithfully trod,
Walking on thorns, wondering if I've suffered
Long enough to be found worthy by some god

Misery and woe have trespassed my heart,
So here's a vow I will not rescind:
These hands will now be used to reach out for love,
And not for prayers that will be lost to the wind!