Prayer Too Poem by michael pacholski

My toes curl up
and my teeth grind a bit.
If my hands clenched the strawberries
I would look bloody
and I might smear the stains
about my face
as I look in the mirror
seeing in my glance
the photo of the tablet of the forgotten god
I once saw in a book
about praying to forgotten gods
to not shake the ground beneath a staid hand
composing tribute and verse and song
that will immortalize.
A book about how to appease them
to gain one last hour
to perform the tribute
that cleanses the mind
and inspires
letting the dying breath in
to hold just one moment more
before being claimed
by all the fractures of the soul.

Giving quiet
gives life once again
A simple working pen
A blank sheet