"Prayer does not change God, but it changes him who
prays." — Soren Kierkegaard
A whispered plea, a fervent sigh,
A soul's embrace beneath the sky.
No mountain shifts, no star takes flight,
But in the heart, a wondrous light.
For prayer, it's not a sculptor's hand,
To mold the heavens, understand.
It shapes the soul, it stills the storm,
And whispers peace, a gentle form.
The deity remains serene,
Unmoved by supplication keen.
But in the soul, a change takes hold,
A story woven, brave and bold.
The heart, once fractured, finds its mend,
With faith's soft touch, a whispered trend.
The spirit soars, the spirit grows,
As prayer's sweet balm the sorrow flows.
No power shifts, no throne is swayed,
But hope's soft ember, brightly played.
The supplicant, transformed by grace,
Finds strength within, a tranquil space.
So pray, dear soul, with heart so true,
For in the act, a change anew.
Not God's vast form, but yours, is changed,
By love's soft touch, a peace exchanged.
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