The Ghosts of my past.

March 10th, 2010-A Child's Prayer

After I tucked my baby in,

And began to close his door,

I heard him scramble on his bed,

And assemble on the floor.

I listened through the wood;

Heard him from his bed descend,

I listened to him talk to God,

Like he was chatting with his best friend.

“I know I’m just a child.

And this is just my prayer.

I don’t expect you to listen.

I think it’s only fair.

That the grown-ups are heard first,

For they’ve been here so very long.

And I am just a child.

Who knows nothing but wrong.”

As he folded his hands beneath him,

I swelled, up deep with glee.

And I smiled as I listened,

To his small voice pray for me.

“I know my momma’s busy.

And I know she loves me so.

And I know she can’t always be here.

And I just want You to know.

That I’m praying for my momma.

I’m praying for you to take her pain.

I’m praying for my momma

Cause of me, her life was stained.”

By the time he’d said, “Amen,”

I’d had tear straining down my cheeks,

I walked away from my son’s room,

And wiped away my make-up streaks.