Poem: A Prayer

Starseeds by M. David Orr, watercolor, 8" x 10," 2001

My wife tells me that educated men no longer seek for God;
The superstitious, and the old, and those afraid are those who pray.
I've heard this all before, and ten years past,
I would have seconded her thought--that evolution's mighty force
Had torn the Ancient Darkness' alters down,
Had ripped the shroud from our pretentious Lord,
And bared a moldering pile of reptile bones.
I'm sure I would have added, the record had been padded
By those who had delusions to uphold, or those insane.
I thought, "No eye is competent to note
The dirt under our nails, the germs on dirt,
The fine detail of spiders' feet,
Unseen by us except in microscope,
And every long-forgotten, obscure name
That ever walked the earth and suffered pain.
Why, Freud had sure discounted our free will!
While monumental forces pull our frame,
With Will the small caboose that ends the train.
"Yes, I would have seconded her thought,
And vanity assures, I would have added more.

Speak to me, O Ancient King!
I hear your voice but think it weak.
I strain with feeble ear
To hear your mystic music whispering low in my man frame,
To hear it whining high in starry field.
O play your graceful music loud and bold,
So even we born blind at least may hear
And know that Music made the far-flung spheres.

Copyright 2006 by M. David Orr