If by chance
your prayers be answered
ever, could I trouble you;

whilst your palms
be pressed together
and fair is fortune's mood;

could I trouble you to pray
there some time soon will come a day
your need of prayer is gone away,

without appearing rude?

Death stirs all ways like the wind
like something getting up to go,

and like the wind death doesn't
leave anywhere alone,

but where it is he travels with
whoever take his guiding hand,

gladly will I wait until
                     I die to understand ..

On the day
she turned to dust
she asked the wind
to be her friend
and it picked her up
and ran her
through the fingers
of it's hands
and it poured her
into pockets
and whispered
to hold on
and before the
church had emptied
they were gone..

The world was at her feet the day
she knelt upon its promised ground

expectant, waiting for the meek's
inheritance to be passed round,

with patience and the dead she waited
wondering as years grew old

if her lifetime had been wasted
on the stories she'd been told.

She flinched at the knock
of the first dirt to drop,

and wished for the voices
above her to stop

entreating Saint Peter
to greet her with keys,

she just wanted peace
and for everyone please

to *******..

That was the end
of her holy affair,

when she knelt, out of habit
and felt fresh air

finding the gaps
where her gods once were

like light finds the edge of a door
when it's not shut so tight as before..