The Prayer

The Prayer short poem

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Alone in his room
Kneeling at the edge of his bed
He uttered a prayer
Heard only by God
And so private, not even the angels
Or the four walls were privy
To what transpired between them
The words, to be sure
Were few and inarticulate
With little faith or form to give them
Much in the way of substance
Or consistency
Even so they held
A great deal of soul
Not so much a quantity
For his soul was a very poor one
But a great outpouring
Of all the odds and ends it held
Spilling into the loneliness of his room
And scattering across the floor
In all directions
Like a broken string of cheap beads
But God picked them up
One by one
Paying heed to every word
Giving each his full attention
Slow and halting as they were
With sighs and restless
Silences between them
Hearing even the inaudible words
The unintelligible sounds he made
Because to God they were still worth something

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Bill Peeler

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My wife, Noy and I are Protestant missionaries in Cambodia. We met in a border refugee camp in Thailand back in 1979 while I was a refugee relief worker. She was a refugee. I lived and worked in Mairut Refugee Camp for three years. We have three grown kids. I was drafted into the Army in 1969, served in Vietnam from 1970 to 1971 and honorably discharged at the end of my military obligation. Writing prose and poetry is how I document the life I'm living and how I map out the mental landscape inside my head.
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