If they could float without reflection
And land without affection,
I would have sent them to you long before today.
 
Past the void and through the breech
That stunts and kills my speech,
So you could capture them in your familiar way.
 
But there are boundaries built by time
And cherished vows that are not mine,
That fight these words as I spit them from my lips.
 
Past grabbing hands encased in gold
Reaching hard for a strangle hold,
To show a truth that these words cannot eclipse.
 
Our dying doves fall into silence
And we shall mourn the passing violence,
That has claimed a ransom upon the death of fate.
 
In a solemn whisper I hope to bury
And lay to rest the prayer for Mary,
In the hopes that I may find a kinder state.

This is one of those rare poems that I remember verse by verse and have for years. I think I wrote it in 1996 or maybe earlier. The whole prayer aspect is a metaphor because there is no prayer. The idea rests solely on the basis that anything you share with yourself in hushed reverence is a prayer. Mary is not a fictitious character though there have been times I wish she was. In all fairness to her I have to say that she was, at least at one time, the world's most inspiring soul that drove me to higher thought and frantic creation of my art. Sometimes stars fall out of the sky but their light can still be seen for years afterwards. Call it a natural phenomenon, I don't know. There is at least some mystery to the workings of humanity and I would like to keep it that way.