Nothing but dust
I once knew a girl who danced naked in the
Woods and wrote a book about witchcraft and
Paper ribbons that took to the air upon hearing
A bow strike the merry strings of a violin.
I knew a man, her husband, a character of
Curious disposition who set about investigating
The power of prayer. There was no book yet
But he had a file full to the brim of copious
Notes on divers schemes and mechanisms
Likely, so he thought, to reveal evidence of
The Almighty at work.
His ideas were all based on feathers or more
Accurately the solitary barb of a feather, barbs
So incredibly light as not to be there at all. Barbs
Balanced on pins, barbs in a vacuum, barbs in
Oil all came to mind and all were duly fashioned
For the purpose of praying that the almighty
Might be persuaded to reveal himself by causing
Any one of his curios devices to move by virtue
Of prayer alone.
Having set up his extraordinary apparatus he
Prayed and waited, waited and prayed. Prayed
Day and night for weeks, months after month he
Prayed and lo, nothing happened, nothing moved
Not even by a jot. The good lord was not listening
Or not prepared to take part in his experiment
And so in total despair he abandoned his ideas
To a shoebox which he placed in a cupboard.
Years later he opened the box containing his
Noble experiments and in great sadness saw
That all had finally moved - not by prayer but
By time - the box held nothing but dust.
© Joseph G Dawson
17/11 2018 and earlier
Nothing but dust
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