A Heartfelt Prayer
written by: Silvana McGuire
The pale long bony fingers clutched at the staff, its pointy nails digging into the leathery palm. While the shroud enlarged and covered the leafy ground behind the tall figure, knees bent down to rest on the dirt by the centuries-old oak tree. Thunder broke the silent night with no lighting to announce it.
The head looked up and the dark veil fell back revealing a spectral face. A tired face. A deep long sigh accompanied the motion as the figure bowed down, kneeling under the chapel provided by tree branches, now holding the staff with both hands to support its weight.
The empty orb let out a single silver teardrop that, one could imagine, gleaned down the marble cheeks and run its way to wet the forest floor.
Death was tired. It was always tired. It had no time to rest but it made daily time to be thankful and even, grateful, for the ones that were spared. For they provided Death with a minute respite.
And Death offered a prayer:
“Last night a young woman was raped in her college dorm.
This prayer is for you.
Yesterday a little boy was abused in the shed behind his home.
This prayer is for you.
This morning a pregnant teen went into an abortion clinic and gave birth to a life-long sorrow.
This prayer is for you.
Today a young man got punched in the face, on his stomach and, falling to the ground, his head was kicked by a heavy boot.
This prayer is for you.
I pray that you find consolation as the river of tears flows from your heart while you find reasons to smile in the upcoming days and seasons.
I pray that you find strength in your legs to keep walking towards open arms ready to embrace and comfort you.
I pray that your eyes see the love available in the world for you and eat that love every time as if that was your only and last savory meal. Because it is.
I pray that my wings enfold you today and every day and that you can feel my feathers caressing your shoulders, enveloping your torso, carrying your legs and body fully into my fold.
I pray that you wait in happiness, in faith, in sorrow, and in pain. For better or for worse. I will come for you.
One day. But not this day.”
The spectral face had gotten darker with each passing vow. The skin turned loose, detached off the face, creating wide uncovered gaps through which bones and teeth could be seen. If one was looking.
But no one was looking. Death wondered if anyone was, indeed, listening.
The long bony fingers clutched at the staff. Long, pointy nails pale as a cloudy sky dug into the skeletal palm. Knees straighten and lift the figure as tall as the moon. Thunder broke the silent night.
The lightning bolt over the century-old oak tree illuminated a wide wet patch of old leaves on the ground as the branches swiftly wavered in the wind.
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