It\'s pride, they cried
But I tell you I heard
Whispering behind the wall
In the next room
I was frightened I would die
My fall would lead to my tomb
I had not thought well of
Of her, of him, of them, of anyone
Complaining they moan I roared
Where is the way out of this debris
Entangling me and them, leaving
Not one free? We must pray
And we do
But this gift of prayer is often
Left to later, and we go each
Our way
In fear, out of gear
Bumping and striving, forgetting
We\'re already here.