Day 3: Morning

Psalms 5 & 6

"I am worn out from groaning;
all night long I flood my bed with weeping
and drench my couch with tears..."

Lord, my linens have not been imperiled
by a flood of coursing tears. My pillow,
at its core, is parched for tactiled

sorrow, weeping it could feel. No, hollow,
unspecific pleas drown our conversation;
my soul is not in anguish, although

i do lament, "how long, how long!" Reaction
to what i have found more awful than agony,
the place of muteness and the unspoken

that my soul dreads eternally:
distance. It appears all my wailing
and groaning are a prepackaged dirge, easy

to program with exclamations failing
to evoke response: neither from You
nor from me. Should i deliberate exhaling

or quickest action, what would these do?
Bowing, becoming low to the ground,
laying petitions down and waiting for You...

but i expect You to answer this humble sound,
these practiced replies and rehearsed lies.
You should answer, it should be profound,

but it should be as i desired. All the whys
of my prayer, arrogant beliefs, lacking amour,
will You consider my bored sighs?

Will You accept this common prayer of the poor?
Of the one who should fling himself on mercy
but instead sits detached in the downpour?