Prayers

Calcutta
“I’m not going to pray anymore,”
She said.
And I tilted towards her
Violet pillow,

The one scented with lavender,
“For sleeping more soundly,”
Her mother had said,
Quietly.

“You are my God, and I,”
She said,
Looking up on blue eyes,
As deep as Calcutta,

“I will speak closer,
My father, who art in
Heaven,”
She said.

But I knew my kingdom,
Would never come,
Nor my will,
Be done.

“Good,”
I said, “then you,
You are my angel,
Sleep now and try,

Not to mush your
Wings,
For they will be
Needed in the morning.”

About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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