ON THE ROAD OF PRAYER

Dismal images appear in the corners of my mind,
the sounds of pleas and troubles, tear at my heart.
I know that I must continue on,
to reach that mark, that I've had from the very start.

I know that I must journey to the floor of the Throne,
I must tug upon the Master's garment, the hem.
I'm reminded that I must be bold and confident,
as I speak up for the sake of "them".

My sister has a broken heart,
my brother is confused, and walks in darkness,
without any sense of hope.
A little child lies, unable to sleep,
is so weary from the sickness, and from bearing the yoke.

I kneel before the Master's throne,
I gaze upon the sandals which adorn His feet.
I pour out my heart to Him Alone,
He has promised faithfully, all our needs, to meet.

He listens intently to each word, as I speak.
I plead all the causes with reverent care.
He sits quietly and patiently, as I pour out my heart.
And then, His robe of peace descends from the air.

The garment is draped, flowing all around,
I feel its softness, as it brushes against my skin.
He sends forth the healing virtue, from His nail-scarred hands,
and I am soothed by the river of compassion,
which exudes from Him.

He lifts the burdens, one by one,
the pain, the wretchedness, of all the troubles I've revealed.
I breathe a sigh of deep relief,
as He speaks to me and says,
"By My blood, My people are healed."