our numbered days

our numbered days poem by steven james humphreys

What do we now do with a life unfulfilled?

can we ever live long enough to complete it in a way

that’s agreeably final?

has anyone ever taught us to pray?

does anyone need to?

what is the right way, so that we get prayers answered?

I waited and waited.

But, I pray all the time.

and, have done so for years.

I can’t lie about it.

I can’t explain if I ever got any answers

or if God was even listening.

Yet, strange not explainable and provable

things have happened.

I then decided to take matters into my own hands

and prayed outside to God’s audience…

his breeze, sun, trees

and grass.

I saw that

there is me and there is out there

and God is God wherever he may be

that there is a silence about it

and nothing belongs to me

nothing at all

for he also gave me an invisible soul

which he also made with

his own hands.

and, I did get answers,

but they cast no words.

and it said…

you have your questions,

and you have but one life,

and it is up to you

and only you

to get on with it

in your own way

because your days

are numbered.


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