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.
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[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.
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!