Prophet’s Prayer

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I stand here at the
P
r
e
c
i
p
i
c
Entirely alone,
Feeling empty.

It is finished—
Finished—completed—

Done.

Looking out—
Vision now reality—
Meaning meeting
The marrow
Of mercurial

Messaging,

Smoke smolders,
Smothering souls
Sucked into

Sanctimony—

Certain of their
Own salvation.

Disheartened,
I look away,

Not that I anticipate—

I never anticipate—
Because I cannot wait.

I cannot stay here,

I must move on
From the sand
Under my feet.

I am no Jonah.

O Lord,
Either way,
Your will be done.

Amen.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
 
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