You kneel at the bed,
With pursed lips,
Like a child listening
At the edge of woods.
You mistake the wind
For the sound of spirits.
You see your prayer
Descending peaks
Through storms and rain
And endless oceans.
Your faith is still intact,
Patient as a widow,
Who burns the candle
On the nights shore,
Awaiting news
From the world’s end.
Poem © 2014 Tom Harding
Tom Harding lives in Northampton, UK where, when not working, he writes poetry and draws. He has been published in various places including Parameter Magazine, Identity Theory, Unlikely Stories and Nthposition. He also maintains a website of his own work at tomarianne.net.