He’s alone on the bus tonight. Mark’s not driving; it’s some stranger who doesn’t greet him when he tags on, doesn’t provide a very welcoming front for conversation. So he just sits alone toward the middle-front of the bus as the dark city moves past. Three in the morning is so dark, when even the party-goers are starting to call it quits or get kicked out. There are so few cars out, so few people, especially in this part of town. He feels like he’s being borne not just through space but through time as well, and he wonders if this is how the Old Ones feel now.
Time moves by so fast now that he’s older, and the more time that passes, the vaster the past becomes to him, the faster the present slips through his fingers.
Sand, he thinks, and that buzziness in his head when he’s been awake for too long but isn’t tired anymore, it goes away. His temple connects with the cool glass of the windows, and like that his eyes are slipping closed, heavy and warm with sleep.
Scary witches beware what will be said about them.
Bound high hopes when the dead awake..
Don’t fake death only believe in it.
Don’t cheat life just be in it.
Sometimes, when i think of you, I say a prayer because, I wanted to do much for you when we were together, but I was such a broken person, I was so afraid to broke you too, that I just ran, ran away from you, I’m so sorry , this is the least I can do.
I sat on my knees, the hot tears pouring down my face, this is where I honestly wanted to be forgiven, I lost my mother, and now that she is gone, I just want her back, I never thought It would hurt so much to lose her.
But I lost control, and it wasn’t pretty either.
The little baby girl was wrapped in her little blanket all warm and soft.
Her father walked up to the open hospital crib and kissed the baby on its head. They had tried so many times to have this baby. Six miscarriages. All the doctors had told them that it wasn’t possible even remotely.
Here she was.
Hope.
The child whispered silent words with passion and desperation, then watched as they feathered up to the heavens, God-bound and intent upon delivering their precious request.
What do I pray for? Why do I pray if my prayers are never answered? Does anybody listen? Does anybody hear me? Or am I really alone in this vast universe. How many different gods do I have to ask to save me from this hell on Earth? If I die will that end it? Will God answer me then?
is your name a
prayer, or a
promise? i can
never really tell
the difference.
but oh god, i’ll
never leave you
as long as these
syllables taste
so heavenly on my
tongue.
I used to believe in prayer. I thought it was powerful and important and worth hours of my time. I learned it was arbitrary bullshit concocted in my own mind to make me feel important. I don’t pray. But sometimes I still feel like I should. Sometimes I think about the hours I spent praying and wonder what my life would be like if I still tried it.
This happens every night like a prayer. It starts in the ticklish part of my inner thighs. Then, it moves upwards along my psoas. I can feel it deep below my belly and up my spinal cord. It climbs my neck gently and into each and everyone of my cells in my skull. I don’t know what it’s there for yet, but I know what it does. And every night, like a prayer, the vastness of its effects take me off guard. Soon it will start again.
This happens every night like a prayer. It starts in the ticklish part of my inner thighs. Then, it moves upwards along my psoas. I can feel it deep below my belly and up my spinal cord. It climbs my neck gently and into each and everyone of my cells in my skull. I don’t know what it’s there for yet, but I know what it does. And every night, like a prayer, the vastness of its effects take me off guard. Soon it will start.
I would like to know how to pray. It seems that it is a simple action. You can pray anywhere. You can pray to whoever you believe in. Buddha, Jesus, Allah.
I am from a ateist family. They haver never teached me how to pray. But when I am alone and far away from them, who should I ask for help? I feel empty. Everybody should be taught how to pray to find help whereever he or she is. Becausw then you know that you alwaya find an advice. Inside you.
Prayer is the essence in the life of all believers who, not only trust and believe in God’s divine grace and wisdom, but it is the light that opens our hearts and mind to worship.
He sat down at the edge of his bed, not sure what he was about to do or how to go about it. All he wanted was to see his one true love before he left for what needed to be the last time. “Castiel. I need you.” he says, his voice catching in his throat. Dean’s eyes were closed and he opened them after a short second. Castiel was standing in front of him. “Goodbye Cas. I’m so sorry, I love you so much, but I have to go. Take care of Sammy for me.”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about, but when he looked around the room it was clear. Cas walked over to Dean and held him as Dean’s eyes closed and body went limp.
All Castiel could do is cry.
Only five minutes passed before Sam arrived home. “Dean, they were—” Sam stares at his brothers body in the angel’s arms. “Wha- Cas- Dean-“. Sam runs over to them and looks at his brother. “Bring him back Cas. Get him back!”
“I can’t Sam.” Castiel says, he couldnt speak above a whisper.
“Why not? You’ve done it before!”
“Sam..”
From the corner of her eye, she saw a young soldier offer up a quick prayer, though whether it was to his god, his ancestors, or the universe itself, she couldn’t say. War made believers of all sorts.
I said a prayer and then took a deep breath, finger wrapped around the trigger as I lifted the gun to my temple. There was no way out, really. It was do or die.
He sat down at the edge of his bed, not sure what he was about to do or how to go about it. All he wanted was to see his one true love before he left for what needed to be the last time. “Castiel. I need you.” he says, his voice catching in his throat. Dean’s eyes were closed and he opened them after a short second. Castiel was standing in front of him. “Goodbye Cas. I’m so sorry, I love you so much, but I have to go. Take care of Sammy for me.”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about, but when he looked around the room it was clear. Cas walked over to Dean and held him as Dean’s eyes closed and body went limp.
All Castiel could do is cry.
I didn’t want a single prayer from the congregation. I didn’t want a homily devoted to me from the pastor, nor psalms dedicated to my fallen name. I didn’t want anyone presuming I wanted to carry a cross as if I, too, were to be crucified for the sake of portraying a message.
Excommunication was bad enough already, and I wasn’t willing to make more of a drama out of it. I was never going back to that church, not even to mouth anyone off. My girlfriend encouraged that mentality. She’d sit next to me on the couch as I stewed, holding my St. Teresa of Avila pendant close to my chest, and kiss me gently on the nose as a sign of “You’re doing the right thing.”
You step into the throne room of the King. Thunder roars, as pillars of light litter the room. The robe of the King flashes with splendour and might, it’s train filling the room. You have been invited to speak to the King, to pour your heart out to him. While angels, peculiar in form, surround him in praise and cries of “holy, holy, holy.” The king listens intently to your heart moved by your cares and pleased by your praise, he opens his mouth, in response to speak. Alas, you have turned and left the room.
Fucking christ. I stare into this putrid abyss. I walk among the many gangs or wretched humans that police it. I see nothing but the red glare of the hatred as it wells up inside me and I know purity! Completion! I am pure in my rage and I know I must crush this wretched earth and rebuild it in my stead.
As we walk through this valley and over these steep hills I can do naught but hope we are heading away from the oblivion that chases us. I pray to any deity that this darkness might pass and give us respite, but I can feel them just behind us. Hunting us for our weakness, our love, our pain, to offer to their god. maybe he hears my prayers… and follow.
and then there was only one survivor and they found out only moments later that there was in fact no god, and all the prayers his family has told were one big waste of breath and that all they ever hoped for would never be achieved. their time had came, now was the end.
it is something that a lot of people can’t quite figure out. do you have to be in a quiet place? does it have to be selfless every time? who are we praying to? how do these prayers get answered? and do we get a sign? how religious/spiritual do you have to be to “get one through”?
you keep me
in your prayers
though i wonder
what i lack
what i’d love
is the absence of judgment
for these iridescent ideals
to show you
the endless possibilities
i see
and hope to
From out of the trenches he went, his comrades either side a comfort, the rum now cold inside, and the whistles’ shrillness from deep behind reaching up as they ran over the broken wires.
Had to hit my knees. Even when I didn’t feel like it. I preferred sitting comfortably atop the couch, left leg above the right thigh, right leg below the left like when I listened to the meditation tapes. That was what prayer was like. A connection with the universe. But hitting the knees meant something too. It was an act of humility, symbolic. It made me feel good and I didn’t give a damn what anyone had to say about it.
prayer is a private moment between you and something unseen that you cherish. when i pray, i often don’t know what is said, to me or from me. i often don’t know what to say, i have to remind myself that i can be completely honest in those moments… silence is a great expression of it all too though.
And as she said her prayer for us none of us had any idea just how much it would help. For being people who don’t quite know how to believe anything other than whats directly in front of us, it was not really all that shocking that we did not understand. So we shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as the words left her mouth, trying to be as polite as we could manage. The next morning we each woke to some sort of “miracle.”
James to find that his mother had been released from the hospital.
Sarah to a letter from her brother up north.
Me to you.
Maybe it’s time I start praying to this so called “God” I was never taught to believe in…
She didn’t believe in prayer. Her mother had, but when she prayed to be saved, she still died. So all she could do was hope. She couldn’t pray. She believed in hope more, anyway. To her, praying was asking for someone to help you and hoping was asking yourself to help, instead.
A wing and a prayer. Land safely on the tarmac. Hope. Parrot birds. Saintly robes and opal beards. Tears flowing downs stone faces. Baptismal sinks. Sinkhole opening on the ground as wheels touch down. Final utterance by passengers: deliver us from evil and forgive our sins, oh lord. Kaboom.
something to help oneself to believe that there is hope in this world . its a way to keep in mind what is it that we want and what is that we seek a medium to remin
The prayers had all been answered in that little pink blanket, she was beautiful, and healthy. The happy, overjoyed mother looked at the father, and all was right with the world. Her name, would be Faith, because that was all they needed.
He’s alone on the bus tonight. Mark’s not driving; it’s some stranger who doesn’t greet him when he tags on, doesn’t provide a very welcoming front for conversation. So he just sits alone toward the middle-front of the bus as the dark city moves past. Three in the morning is so dark, when even the party-goers are starting to call it quits or get kicked out. There are so few cars out, so few people, especially in this part of town. He feels like he’s being borne not just through space but through time as well, and he wonders if this is how the Old Ones feel now.
Time moves by so fast now that he’s older, and the more time that passes, the vaster the past becomes to him, the faster the present slips through his fingers.
Sand, he thinks, and that buzziness in his head when he’s been awake for too long but isn’t tired anymore, it goes away. His temple connects with the cool glass of the windows, and like that his eyes are slipping closed, heavy and warm with sleep.
Scary witches beware what will be said about them.
Bound high hopes when the dead awake..
Don’t fake death only believe in it.
Don’t cheat life just be in it.
Sometimes, when i think of you, I say a prayer because, I wanted to do much for you when we were together, but I was such a broken person, I was so afraid to broke you too, that I just ran, ran away from you, I’m so sorry , this is the least I can do.
I sat on my knees, the hot tears pouring down my face, this is where I honestly wanted to be forgiven, I lost my mother, and now that she is gone, I just want her back, I never thought It would hurt so much to lose her.
But I lost control, and it wasn’t pretty either.
The little baby girl was wrapped in her little blanket all warm and soft.
Her father walked up to the open hospital crib and kissed the baby on its head. They had tried so many times to have this baby. Six miscarriages. All the doctors had told them that it wasn’t possible even remotely.
Here she was.
Hope.
clench hands
together, lowering
fingers link.
close your eyes,
pray
to meaning.
The child whispered silent words with passion and desperation, then watched as they feathered up to the heavens, God-bound and intent upon delivering their precious request.
What do I pray for? Why do I pray if my prayers are never answered? Does anybody listen? Does anybody hear me? Or am I really alone in this vast universe. How many different gods do I have to ask to save me from this hell on Earth? If I die will that end it? Will God answer me then?
is your name a
prayer, or a
promise? i can
never really tell
the difference.
but oh god, i’ll
never leave you
as long as these
syllables taste
so heavenly on my
tongue.
now, i don’t
think it matters.
The person looks at him with pity and says,
“I’ll pray for you.”
He forces a smile and says almost inaudibly, “thank you.”
When in all actuality he means to say fuck you.
I used to believe in prayer. I thought it was powerful and important and worth hours of my time. I learned it was arbitrary bullshit concocted in my own mind to make me feel important. I don’t pray. But sometimes I still feel like I should. Sometimes I think about the hours I spent praying and wonder what my life would be like if I still tried it.
If only i could speak the perfect prayer, the one filled with enough light to touch God’s eyes, unleash all the blessings I’m seeking.
God, please show me what to be.
You know me better than I know me.
This happens every night like a prayer. It starts in the ticklish part of my inner thighs. Then, it moves upwards along my psoas. I can feel it deep below my belly and up my spinal cord. It climbs my neck gently and into each and everyone of my cells in my skull. I don’t know what it’s there for yet, but I know what it does. And every night, like a prayer, the vastness of its effects take me off guard. Soon it will start again.
This happens every night like a prayer. It starts in the ticklish part of my inner thighs. Then, it moves upwards along my psoas. I can feel it deep below my belly and up my spinal cord. It climbs my neck gently and into each and everyone of my cells in my skull. I don’t know what it’s there for yet, but I know what it does. And every night, like a prayer, the vastness of its effects take me off guard. Soon it will start.
I would like to know how to pray. It seems that it is a simple action. You can pray anywhere. You can pray to whoever you believe in. Buddha, Jesus, Allah.
I am from a ateist family. They haver never teached me how to pray. But when I am alone and far away from them, who should I ask for help? I feel empty. Everybody should be taught how to pray to find help whereever he or she is. Becausw then you know that you alwaya find an advice. Inside you.
Prayer is the essence in the life of all believers who, not only trust and believe in God’s divine grace and wisdom, but it is the light that opens our hearts and mind to worship.
He sat down at the edge of his bed, not sure what he was about to do or how to go about it. All he wanted was to see his one true love before he left for what needed to be the last time. “Castiel. I need you.” he says, his voice catching in his throat. Dean’s eyes were closed and he opened them after a short second. Castiel was standing in front of him. “Goodbye Cas. I’m so sorry, I love you so much, but I have to go. Take care of Sammy for me.”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about, but when he looked around the room it was clear. Cas walked over to Dean and held him as Dean’s eyes closed and body went limp.
All Castiel could do is cry.
Only five minutes passed before Sam arrived home. “Dean, they were—” Sam stares at his brothers body in the angel’s arms. “Wha- Cas- Dean-“. Sam runs over to them and looks at his brother. “Bring him back Cas. Get him back!”
“I can’t Sam.” Castiel says, he couldnt speak above a whisper.
“Why not? You’ve done it before!”
“Sam..”
From the corner of her eye, she saw a young soldier offer up a quick prayer, though whether it was to his god, his ancestors, or the universe itself, she couldn’t say. War made believers of all sorts.
I said a prayer and then took a deep breath, finger wrapped around the trigger as I lifted the gun to my temple. There was no way out, really. It was do or die.
Only God could save me now.
He sat down at the edge of his bed, not sure what he was about to do or how to go about it. All he wanted was to see his one true love before he left for what needed to be the last time. “Castiel. I need you.” he says, his voice catching in his throat. Dean’s eyes were closed and he opened them after a short second. Castiel was standing in front of him. “Goodbye Cas. I’m so sorry, I love you so much, but I have to go. Take care of Sammy for me.”
Castiel wasn’t sure what Dean was talking about, but when he looked around the room it was clear. Cas walked over to Dean and held him as Dean’s eyes closed and body went limp.
All Castiel could do is cry.
I didn’t want a single prayer from the congregation. I didn’t want a homily devoted to me from the pastor, nor psalms dedicated to my fallen name. I didn’t want anyone presuming I wanted to carry a cross as if I, too, were to be crucified for the sake of portraying a message.
Excommunication was bad enough already, and I wasn’t willing to make more of a drama out of it. I was never going back to that church, not even to mouth anyone off. My girlfriend encouraged that mentality. She’d sit next to me on the couch as I stewed, holding my St. Teresa of Avila pendant close to my chest, and kiss me gently on the nose as a sign of “You’re doing the right thing.”
You step into the throne room of the King. Thunder roars, as pillars of light litter the room. The robe of the King flashes with splendour and might, it’s train filling the room. You have been invited to speak to the King, to pour your heart out to him. While angels, peculiar in form, surround him in praise and cries of “holy, holy, holy.” The king listens intently to your heart moved by your cares and pleased by your praise, he opens his mouth, in response to speak. Alas, you have turned and left the room.
Fucking christ. I stare into this putrid abyss. I walk among the many gangs or wretched humans that police it. I see nothing but the red glare of the hatred as it wells up inside me and I know purity! Completion! I am pure in my rage and I know I must crush this wretched earth and rebuild it in my stead.
As we walk through this valley and over these steep hills I can do naught but hope we are heading away from the oblivion that chases us. I pray to any deity that this darkness might pass and give us respite, but I can feel them just behind us. Hunting us for our weakness, our love, our pain, to offer to their god. maybe he hears my prayers… and follow.
and then there was only one survivor and they found out only moments later that there was in fact no god, and all the prayers his family has told were one big waste of breath and that all they ever hoped for would never be achieved. their time had came, now was the end.
it is something that a lot of people can’t quite figure out. do you have to be in a quiet place? does it have to be selfless every time? who are we praying to? how do these prayers get answered? and do we get a sign? how religious/spiritual do you have to be to “get one through”?
you keep me
in your prayers
though i wonder
what i lack
what i’d love
is the absence of judgment
for these iridescent ideals
to show you
the endless possibilities
i see
and hope to
something that people do for saying thanks to god like asking god for help and saying thank you sometimes he answers prayers and sometimes he doesn’t.
From out of the trenches he went, his comrades either side a comfort, the rum now cold inside, and the whistles’ shrillness from deep behind reaching up as they ran over the broken wires.
Had to hit my knees. Even when I didn’t feel like it. I preferred sitting comfortably atop the couch, left leg above the right thigh, right leg below the left like when I listened to the meditation tapes. That was what prayer was like. A connection with the universe. But hitting the knees meant something too. It was an act of humility, symbolic. It made me feel good and I didn’t give a damn what anyone had to say about it.
prayer is a private moment between you and something unseen that you cherish. when i pray, i often don’t know what is said, to me or from me. i often don’t know what to say, i have to remind myself that i can be completely honest in those moments… silence is a great expression of it all too though.
a prayer is a secret hope you whisper in the dark of healing and need and list of wishes and wants prayer is holy
You’re gonna get hotwired, baby. Put down that knife because it’s more that you can slowly. You never know who just rode in the cab before you got in.
And as she said her prayer for us none of us had any idea just how much it would help. For being people who don’t quite know how to believe anything other than whats directly in front of us, it was not really all that shocking that we did not understand. So we shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as the words left her mouth, trying to be as polite as we could manage. The next morning we each woke to some sort of “miracle.”
James to find that his mother had been released from the hospital.
Sarah to a letter from her brother up north.
Me to you.
Maybe it’s time I start praying to this so called “God” I was never taught to believe in…
She didn’t believe in prayer. Her mother had, but when she prayed to be saved, she still died. So all she could do was hope. She couldn’t pray. She believed in hope more, anyway. To her, praying was asking for someone to help you and hoping was asking yourself to help, instead.
A wing and a prayer. Land safely on the tarmac. Hope. Parrot birds. Saintly robes and opal beards. Tears flowing downs stone faces. Baptismal sinks. Sinkhole opening on the ground as wheels touch down. Final utterance by passengers: deliver us from evil and forgive our sins, oh lord. Kaboom.
something to help oneself to believe that there is hope in this world . its a way to keep in mind what is it that we want and what is that we seek a medium to remin
prayer
praying god jezus super stisious religion
The prayers had all been answered in that little pink blanket, she was beautiful, and healthy. The happy, overjoyed mother looked at the father, and all was right with the world. Her name, would be Faith, because that was all they needed.