For a few shekels
the rabbi would light a candle
and offer a prayer of peace,
the exotic Hebrew phrases
bouncing softly off ancient stone walls
and pictures of stern men
shrouded in black robes and flowing beards.
.
I tossed my coins into the basket;
I, a gentile man, a military man
raised in the bosom of the Baptist church.
With eyes closed, I absorbed the words.
He could have been saying anything
for all my alien ears could fathom,
but everything sounds sacred in Jerusalem.
.
Tendrils of smoke carried my prayer
on its ascent to heaven.
I, indeed, felt at peace; felt a kinship
with David, his bones somewhere below,
dissolved into the dust. The Beloved of God,
King David; warrior, poet, sinner.
A Man After God’s Heart. A man like me.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Author's Note: This poem was first published in the chapbook, Beyond the Horizon: Journeys in Poetry and Prose, 2010]
About the Creator
Randy Baker
Poet, author, essayist.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments (2)
It's great how despite the difference in religion, a place of prayer always has this serenity about it, and you related that really well here 😊
This is heartwarming, and I really felt the spiritual presence and love in the writing. I love this, Randy!