Thou art a quiet storm on her gorgeous sea,
silently moving between the earth and her core,
between understanding everything and nothing.

I fell into thy arms and discovered that which made no sense,
that which I could not see.
Thy lulled me back aground from my lofty assumptions.

I wrestled night and day in fear of day and night.
I fought a gale, I cut it's strings and she moved across the water.
She set adrift and returned a quiet peace, a calm forgiveness.

Thou art of fury and female, of shards and knives, arsenic and apples.
I am taken through morning and then back to night.
But all of this, all of this...my love for thee.

This is my prayer to thee, my loyalty to thee.
Stay that I could drink from thy well until I mourn my thirst
Be still that I might count the strands of thy fabric.

Speak that I might ascribe the tones of thy voice
Sing that I might dissolve into the love of thy preciousness.
Give me life that every moment may be a record of thy goodness.

And with this I end in a garden of death and awe
in this time of pain and peace.
I love thee, I've always loved thee.

Give to the earth my body that she might light up the stars with the root my love.
I am but myself. I am a host of angels, a watcher of earth. I am but myself.

J M Prater

The Nightingale's Prayer

Look at me my daughter, move your eyes up and meet mine and see that I love thee. Look at me my daughter and find forgiveness for all things in my smile. Look at me my daughter and know that it is in you that I live, in you that my heart dwells, in you that my spirit sings. Look at me my daughter and understand that in you the ocean moves, in you the seas sway, in you the rivers find their meaning.

Look at me my daughter and praise not just what you could be, but what you are. Look at me my daughter and know that you are enough, that your every breath is precious, your every emotion the truth. Look at me my daughter and see your reflection in my eyes. Look at me my daughter and realize that you are my beginning and my gorgeous end. You are the night that falls and the sun that rises again.

Oh my daughters, I have bestowed upon you all that was good in me, so that in each moment the joy I feel is you, the laughter I experience is you, the happiness I have is yours. Oh my loves, oh my women, you are the nightingale’s prayer, the light in the cellar, fresh water among the rocks. You are my hope and destination, my life without end, my joy without sorrow.

J M Prater

You riddle your daughter with daggers, her flesh with salt, her spirit with darkness. You smother the life of her child with your judgement, you eviscerate the memory of her mother with your forked scalpel of a tongue. You riddle your daughter with daggers.

You Poison your sons with your genetic promise, their dreams with your guilt, and their sons with your toil. You tear from them any hope of a harbor, any semblance of peace. You poison your sons with everything.

In reply, your sons and daughters, they stake your heart with their knives. They bring down your house with mockery of your counterfeit love.

J M Prater