Meu Deus (ou Deusa, ou o que diabos esteja me ouvindo agora), permita que o futuro não chegue tão rápido quanto ele caminha. Ou que, se ele chegue rapidamente, pelo menos use salto alto e deixe-me saber que está próximo da minha porta.
Bárbara
I have evolved to a level of daily prayer; faith comforts.
He didn’t believe in prayer much anymore. He used to believe in things like that; prayers, angels, miracles. He soon found out it was only a matter of time before that all went away. He pitied himself for ever believing in things like that, and it was all because of her.
Katrina
give me long nights
I ache for candles melted low
a finger of incense
the sound of something strange
as you kiss, lean
into me
give me our dark garden
fecund, spiraling
your breath across mine
finding each other
ever anew
A way to connect to God. A way for asking things you desire from God.
kk
He doesn’t pray out of religion or sentiment. He prays because he’s run out of options. Because there’s nothing else for him, or for her. And so, he prays. Because he doesn’t deserve this. And neither does she. They deserve the world.
A young man was sitting on a stool in a bar. he’s hands folded in prayer.
In front of him. A drink. Scotch. He hasn’t touched it yet.
Finally he finishes his prayer, chugs his glass, and leaves the bar.
Margreta
In life we move as little deaths and solemnly whisper prayers that in death me we recover life
Running was a prayer. Much like the physical and spiritual endurance only prayers could heal in a sweat lodge and in life, his legs carried him farther than his heart could alone and he chanted and sang over red sand, the blood of giants cut from his ancestor twin brothers. He prayed for his family first, those at home cooking dinner, doing homework, working on the yard outside. Then his friends, those who carried him from battles, from desperate feelings of hate and anger, from parties, and carried him out of love. Many times they didn’t know they were carrying him. He ran for love. Love for his people, love for his friends and family, love for those whose hearts aren’t strong enough.
i’m not sure how i feel about prayer. i do believe in the power of prayer, but maybe you need to be more devout for prayers to be heard. maybe there’s a list of seniority for who gets heard. and the more regularly you pray, the more seniority you get.
lisa
i’m not sure how i feel about prayer. i do believe in the power of prayer, but maybe you need to be more devout for prayers to be heard. maybe there’s a list of seniority for who gets heard. and the more regularly you pray, the more seniority you get
lisa
He doesn’t pray out of religion or sentiment. He prays because he’s run out of options. Because there’s nothing else for him, or for her. And so, he prays. Because he doesn’t deserve this. And neither does she. They deserve the world.
I_have_no_words
come back come back come back come back
are you happy?
with your little diamonds and your pretty house in soCal or was it new york i haven’t talked to you since maybe june or was it july of the last year before you met
them
and i hate your house and your picket fence and the place where you work
come back and stay here
jr
She was looking at the marble edifice. With so much doubt, she questions herself. What lead her into believing into all of this? What is religion and who really gets to choose it?
Aira Lheiz Aquino
She clasped her hands together. Gerard was dying. The doctors had given up. Nancy had given up. Even Mr. Everhart had given up. But she refused to. Gerard would get better. He had to. But now the only thing that she had going for her was her prayers.
He would get better.
Lauren
She sat at the end of her bed, on her knees in standard prayer pose. She squeezed her eyes tight and clasped her hands together desperately.
“Please,” she begged, though the room was otherwise empty, “please, bring them back safely.”
Toni Wiltshire
you said nothing.
you did nothing.
you expected
and that was more than enough.
and now you’re left,
bare
and alone
and afraid
and humbled
with the only thing left to do
is to ask for grace.
let us kneel down before the lord, the lord of our mistakes and yearnings and blindness. let us sing hosannas to the creator of this and all great lands, and the lilies of the valley and the bounding fawn…
You are a prayer but you don’t know what you’re doing. What is a pray? Pray for who? Pray for what? What are you?
le
Prayer is private. I don’t go to church. I don’t pray to be seen praying and thus prove myself to be better than others. I pray becuase He is a part of me and talking to him makes me feel better and be wiser and act kinder. Prayer is medicine.
You aren’t a particularly religious person, but you want to pray to whatever deity is or isn’t out there to help you. It isn’t like they’d bother to help someone like you anyway.
How exactly did you get yourself into this predicament, anyway? It must be your luck, you think.
Yes, it can only be your luck. Good luck, bad luck.
For every good thing, a bad thing must happen to balance it out.
Super High School Level Good (Bad) Luck. What a wonderful life you lead.
Is the best thing ever. It connects us to God. It’s talking to Him without seeing Him physically.
Carla May
O dear Lord
how I wish mosquitoes were away
how I wish their needles won’t prick my skin
won’t look for blood
won’t sniff for me
How I wish them their deaths
their extinction,
which would be followed by imbalance
the tipping of the scales,
deaths upon deaths
toward an Earth so alien.
O Lord, how I want their throats slit
but maybe if I learn how to swat
then the nature would continue its beauty
as the world spins and spins
until no more.
I was brought up to say my prayers every night before I went to sleep. Even now I still say my prayers at night and I find it comforting to say a prayer in times of need.
as he kneeled down by the window, he placed his hands together. he was not one to prayer, but tonight he felt differently. He was not sure whether it was the events of today that had made him think so, or whether it was the events this week that had led up to tonight.
He prayed.
He wanted something different, something better. To get away, to be free.
A simple life, maybe even a fun one. He was not one for fun, or at least his upbringing had not been much of a fun one.
School, Work, Chores. Joy
alexius robinson
It seems so pointless. Like an internal sound track of what you want and can’t have. When I feel the need or yearning to plead to that bearded man in the sky I stop, and I think. I wonder what he would really do, or if even can. I promise that I won’t ever, or I will from now on ad no matter the out come I always go back in that promise. I wonder if that weird watcher has some kind of answering system, or if they all get collected in a jar like fireflys. Does he hear them all or just tell himself he will get to ten tomorrow. Does he put off our needs and small insecurity to our own doings and our own controls. Does he care, or is he just an impartial observer who laughed at out small worries. He made everything so why can’t we just solve out little problems. Are we insignificant or actually special to “his” heart. Does he watch us with a deep desire for us to be happy and love each other or is there a small feeling of loathing for how we treat each other and the world he made for is, so he let’s is deal with our on shit for his own dark kind of vengeance. I try not to pray. It seems selfish and a waste of time.
Toast
Her mother had forced her to go. Serena grimaced at the sight of his fat, ugly head and shuddered with rage as he offered a prayer for all of God’s children. “If they are good and pure”, he professed “Jesus will show them the way and see that no harm will come to them.”
The hypocrisy was brutal. Yesterday, as she emptied the dustbins for Mrs McCauley behind the classroom she had seen the Reverend with his pants down behind the church, doing unspeakable things to Harry Mason. Harry was crying, she saw him. She was pretty sure Reverend Fredrick was doing Harry harm and she wondered what God would make of that.
It is not necessary to believe in a got to believe in prayer. A prayer is a wish, a desire, expressed to someone other than oneself, that one believes cannot be fulfilled by one’s own efforts alone, and thus needs the intervention of another. If that other be a god, or a spirit, then the prayer is actually a kind of trick, to fool oneself into believing that the wish can be fulfilled by some power
beyond one’s self, when in actuality it is the self, newly confident and inspired by this trick, that actually realises the wish.
tonykeyesjapan
her mother started crying, her hands clasped in mine. she knows I’m not religious but I’d try if she asked.
M. Babington
Mass accumulation of positive thoughts have got to have some effect, right? If, in fact, this reality is a conglomeration of the reality everyone has agreed to see, doesn’t it seem fitting that a correctly placed hope, a prayer sent off into the wind, might find its place in a new reality?
Layers of Prayers
For the meaning in inconsequential
it’s the notion we mean
Singing what we mean
Leaning to be seen
S.T. Rauner
Sometimes it works. I don’t know. I don’t believe there is anyone up in the sky granting wishes. There is no wizard of oz. But the act of praying may be the answer to the question as to whether it works. I’ve prayed but it seems a lot more like meditation than what I consider prayer.
susan
Something that I used to do until it became routinary. What do we get out of this, really? I wonder how people visualize the conversations in their head as they express their deepest thoughts and desires to a said higher being.
Aira Lheiz Aquino
Kneeling for hours on a pew, listening to others mumble away at their own fervent prayers. The cathedral is large, but it cannot hold everyone’s thoughts, and humble mumblings of the heart. I try my best to focus on mine, but the wonderment of
Ari
I kneeled at the altar, heart bursting. I stuggled to get the whispered words past my lips, as tears dripped down my face. Joey had died. For the US Amry at Omaha Beach. Oh Dear God how could I live without him! My little brother dead. I put my hands over my face as I sobbed, my heart silently praying to God, if He even could hear me. So many women were doing the same, and I looked around at all of them
Meu Deus (ou Deusa, ou o que diabos esteja me ouvindo agora), permita que o futuro não chegue tão rápido quanto ele caminha. Ou que, se ele chegue rapidamente, pelo menos use salto alto e deixe-me saber que está próximo da minha porta.
I have evolved to a level of daily prayer; faith comforts.
He didn’t believe in prayer much anymore. He used to believe in things like that; prayers, angels, miracles. He soon found out it was only a matter of time before that all went away. He pitied himself for ever believing in things like that, and it was all because of her.
give me long nights
I ache for candles melted low
a finger of incense
the sound of something strange
as you kiss, lean
into me
give me our dark garden
fecund, spiraling
your breath across mine
finding each other
ever anew
A way to connect to God. A way for asking things you desire from God.
He doesn’t pray out of religion or sentiment. He prays because he’s run out of options. Because there’s nothing else for him, or for her. And so, he prays. Because he doesn’t deserve this. And neither does she. They deserve the world.
Ох. Этот момент, когда ты понимаешь, что тебе нечего написать.
A young man was sitting on a stool in a bar. he’s hands folded in prayer.
In front of him. A drink. Scotch. He hasn’t touched it yet.
Finally he finishes his prayer, chugs his glass, and leaves the bar.
In life we move as little deaths and solemnly whisper prayers that in death me we recover life
Running was a prayer. Much like the physical and spiritual endurance only prayers could heal in a sweat lodge and in life, his legs carried him farther than his heart could alone and he chanted and sang over red sand, the blood of giants cut from his ancestor twin brothers. He prayed for his family first, those at home cooking dinner, doing homework, working on the yard outside. Then his friends, those who carried him from battles, from desperate feelings of hate and anger, from parties, and carried him out of love. Many times they didn’t know they were carrying him. He ran for love. Love for his people, love for his friends and family, love for those whose hearts aren’t strong enough.
i’m not sure how i feel about prayer. i do believe in the power of prayer, but maybe you need to be more devout for prayers to be heard. maybe there’s a list of seniority for who gets heard. and the more regularly you pray, the more seniority you get.
i’m not sure how i feel about prayer. i do believe in the power of prayer, but maybe you need to be more devout for prayers to be heard. maybe there’s a list of seniority for who gets heard. and the more regularly you pray, the more seniority you get
He doesn’t pray out of religion or sentiment. He prays because he’s run out of options. Because there’s nothing else for him, or for her. And so, he prays. Because he doesn’t deserve this. And neither does she. They deserve the world.
come back come back come back come back
are you happy?
with your little diamonds and your pretty house in soCal or was it new york i haven’t talked to you since maybe june or was it july of the last year before you met
them
and i hate your house and your picket fence and the place where you work
come back and stay here
She was looking at the marble edifice. With so much doubt, she questions herself. What lead her into believing into all of this? What is religion and who really gets to choose it?
She clasped her hands together. Gerard was dying. The doctors had given up. Nancy had given up. Even Mr. Everhart had given up. But she refused to. Gerard would get better. He had to. But now the only thing that she had going for her was her prayers.
He would get better.
She sat at the end of her bed, on her knees in standard prayer pose. She squeezed her eyes tight and clasped her hands together desperately.
“Please,” she begged, though the room was otherwise empty, “please, bring them back safely.”
you said nothing.
you did nothing.
you expected
and that was more than enough.
and now you’re left,
bare
and alone
and afraid
and humbled
with the only thing left to do
is to ask for grace.
let us kneel down before the lord, the lord of our mistakes and yearnings and blindness. let us sing hosannas to the creator of this and all great lands, and the lilies of the valley and the bounding fawn…
You are a prayer but you don’t know what you’re doing. What is a pray? Pray for who? Pray for what? What are you?
Prayer is private. I don’t go to church. I don’t pray to be seen praying and thus prove myself to be better than others. I pray becuase He is a part of me and talking to him makes me feel better and be wiser and act kinder. Prayer is medicine.
You aren’t a particularly religious person, but you want to pray to whatever deity is or isn’t out there to help you. It isn’t like they’d bother to help someone like you anyway.
How exactly did you get yourself into this predicament, anyway? It must be your luck, you think.
Yes, it can only be your luck. Good luck, bad luck.
For every good thing, a bad thing must happen to balance it out.
Super High School Level Good (Bad) Luck. What a wonderful life you lead.
Is the best thing ever. It connects us to God. It’s talking to Him without seeing Him physically.
O dear Lord
how I wish mosquitoes were away
how I wish their needles won’t prick my skin
won’t look for blood
won’t sniff for me
How I wish them their deaths
their extinction,
which would be followed by imbalance
the tipping of the scales,
deaths upon deaths
toward an Earth so alien.
O Lord, how I want their throats slit
but maybe if I learn how to swat
then the nature would continue its beauty
as the world spins and spins
until no more.
I was brought up to say my prayers every night before I went to sleep. Even now I still say my prayers at night and I find it comforting to say a prayer in times of need.
as he kneeled down by the window, he placed his hands together. he was not one to prayer, but tonight he felt differently. He was not sure whether it was the events of today that had made him think so, or whether it was the events this week that had led up to tonight.
He prayed.
He wanted something different, something better. To get away, to be free.
A simple life, maybe even a fun one. He was not one for fun, or at least his upbringing had not been much of a fun one.
School, Work, Chores. Joy
It seems so pointless. Like an internal sound track of what you want and can’t have. When I feel the need or yearning to plead to that bearded man in the sky I stop, and I think. I wonder what he would really do, or if even can. I promise that I won’t ever, or I will from now on ad no matter the out come I always go back in that promise. I wonder if that weird watcher has some kind of answering system, or if they all get collected in a jar like fireflys. Does he hear them all or just tell himself he will get to ten tomorrow. Does he put off our needs and small insecurity to our own doings and our own controls. Does he care, or is he just an impartial observer who laughed at out small worries. He made everything so why can’t we just solve out little problems. Are we insignificant or actually special to “his” heart. Does he watch us with a deep desire for us to be happy and love each other or is there a small feeling of loathing for how we treat each other and the world he made for is, so he let’s is deal with our on shit for his own dark kind of vengeance. I try not to pray. It seems selfish and a waste of time.
Her mother had forced her to go. Serena grimaced at the sight of his fat, ugly head and shuddered with rage as he offered a prayer for all of God’s children. “If they are good and pure”, he professed “Jesus will show them the way and see that no harm will come to them.”
The hypocrisy was brutal. Yesterday, as she emptied the dustbins for Mrs McCauley behind the classroom she had seen the Reverend with his pants down behind the church, doing unspeakable things to Harry Mason. Harry was crying, she saw him. She was pretty sure Reverend Fredrick was doing Harry harm and she wondered what God would make of that.
By the fourth day, the prayer still remained unanswered and the river ran red with blood.
you told me, that day
when the sky cracked like an egg
on the hot black sky
that I’d be in your prayers.
how do I tell you
that I’d much rather be
between those clasped hands
or on those fluttering lips?
how do I tell you
that I’d much rather be
knelt between your quivering pale
sunday school thighs?
how do I tell you
that I’d much rather be
in love with you
than pledged to Him.
It is not necessary to believe in a got to believe in prayer. A prayer is a wish, a desire, expressed to someone other than oneself, that one believes cannot be fulfilled by one’s own efforts alone, and thus needs the intervention of another. If that other be a god, or a spirit, then the prayer is actually a kind of trick, to fool oneself into believing that the wish can be fulfilled by some power
beyond one’s self, when in actuality it is the self, newly confident and inspired by this trick, that actually realises the wish.
her mother started crying, her hands clasped in mine. she knows I’m not religious but I’d try if she asked.
Mass accumulation of positive thoughts have got to have some effect, right? If, in fact, this reality is a conglomeration of the reality everyone has agreed to see, doesn’t it seem fitting that a correctly placed hope, a prayer sent off into the wind, might find its place in a new reality?
Layers of Prayers
For the meaning in inconsequential
it’s the notion we mean
Singing what we mean
Leaning to be seen
Sometimes it works. I don’t know. I don’t believe there is anyone up in the sky granting wishes. There is no wizard of oz. But the act of praying may be the answer to the question as to whether it works. I’ve prayed but it seems a lot more like meditation than what I consider prayer.
Something that I used to do until it became routinary. What do we get out of this, really? I wonder how people visualize the conversations in their head as they express their deepest thoughts and desires to a said higher being.
Kneeling for hours on a pew, listening to others mumble away at their own fervent prayers. The cathedral is large, but it cannot hold everyone’s thoughts, and humble mumblings of the heart. I try my best to focus on mine, but the wonderment of
I kneeled at the altar, heart bursting. I stuggled to get the whispered words past my lips, as tears dripped down my face. Joey had died. For the US Amry at Omaha Beach. Oh Dear God how could I live without him! My little brother dead. I put my hands over my face as I sobbed, my heart silently praying to God, if He even could hear me. So many women were doing the same, and I looked around at all of them