therapy

I spent money on deck chairs.

Hardly ever use them.

Today I did.

I sat out in the sun. 

I wrote in my journal. 

I put my thoughts down.

Looked at old notes,

letters.

I found that song that made me cry at church.

Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed,
The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,
The falling of a tear,
The upward glancing of an eye
When none but God is near.

 Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.

My soul's desires are many.

I look with upward glance.

Not always do I kneel.

That makes me sad.

 A formal prayer gets put aside.

I don't make the time.

But I rejoiced as I sang this song.

My words are unexpressed.

I live and breath in this world,

but feel as though I'm lost.

Far from home.

But closer still,

as my thoughts are of my home.

I need some help.

Answers.

A coach.

Who will be my guide.

If I ask, will He really help?

Will His thoughts fill up my mind?

I write it all.

The words come fast.

I laid down and took a nap, 

the sun my blanket.

My therapy is done.