I don\'t know how to pray
They teach you to steeple your hands
Bow your head
Defer reverence to the God of Compassion
They don\'t tell you what to say
Sure, there are divinities in words
And the names of the demiurge
And the whispers of contrition
But they don\'t say the middle bits
The \"I\'m sorry\" that breathes silence
Into the conversation of your heart
And the tingle of connection in your mind
The muttered Lord\'s Prayer meant to bepeace
The fluttering fears in our stomachs
The crackling of thunder on slumbering trees
They don\'t teach you how to talk to God
He\'s all knowing but does He hear
With His Good ears the fear inside me
That I\'m performing, anxious to be heard
But petrified of being seen
That I do not match His image of Man
I am not a faithful man
I let sin fall in my heart,
the same as many others
But I hope that the war in my thoughts
In a quiet, peaceful bay,
Is for a purpose
That one day I, too,
Will lay down beside still waters
And rest.