Poetry

Sometimes it feels, it really looks
as if you are unaware of my existence,
maybe busy with more pressing things
than me a simple human being
 
yet in the waking morning, the first light of day
(and I have not got to pray
to be aware of this)
it’s as if you are in the world around me,
 
not in a great serenity, but touching
even other smaller things
like bees and birds and blooming flowers,
sending rain showers at the appropriate time
 
and I do pray
please help me,
please guide and open the way
with each passing day.
 
[Reference: To The One Upstairs by Charles Simic.]