She knelt to pray,
still as stone
lights went out in her heart.
Salty tears,
only life left.
Still as stone,
birds perched thought her dead.
Not all prayers are spoken out loud,
Some are worn,
like old tattered clothes.
Some are....
Sighed!
No park benches for exhausted souls
to catch their breath.
No tears water enough to wash away
the pain.
Only the moon sits by when
orphans stitch themselves at the seams, undone.
So she knelt to pray,
still as death, birds perched.
Waited to be exhumed from
the prayers she wore.
When she had shared her salt with the earth,
she was still waiting to be exhumed.
Some prayers are not answered fast enough.
So when she prays,
she prays still, like dead stones.