When you pray, pray like this:
always as a brother of Our Lord,
addressing Our Father.
Not in floods of mighty words,
not mindful of unworthiness,
of burdens all one’s own, but of
Truth concealed behind
an amber glass.
The former things, the worrying—
they all, they all will pass.
So must we all. Remember:
we all flourish for a time,
and in such timebound thriving
is all Man’s transience shown.
So do not fear the once-dying,
and do not flee the elemental
burning of the mundane tangle:
across this earthly valley hangs
the loom on which our tapestry
is stretched, the fabric of all flesh.
Bent metallic souls we are, we frame
this too too solid cloth whose warp hangs
pulled by gravity towards
Earth’s infernal core.
Our waning tensile strength
portends collapse; so, too, the
red hot, singeing shuttle
whose darting course unknits
Between, among, throughout the motes
of purgatorial flame and smoke,
descry the Weaver’s hands which ply
pig-iron souls and tattered strands.
Persist, abide in Job-like faith.
recall, too, the sometimes-theologian,
who—young in name if not in age—
turned an accidental holy phrase:
“It’s better to burn out,” he said,
“than fade away.”