A FATHER'S PRAYER IN A PARALLEL WORLD


Dear God,
make my son's hands
less like mine –
less prone to fists,
less inclined to break
the things that cannot
be mended.
Let his fingers learn 
to tremble with mercy,
to hold the delicate threads 
of another's sorrow.
Teach him to 
cup his palms 
around the flame
of a loved one's pain, 
to warm it without consuming.
May his touch be 
a benediction, 
a gentle breeze
that stirs the ashes of 
what's been lost.
Let him learn 
to handle the fragile, 
with reverence and awe.
And when the darkness closes in, 
as it will,
may his hands be 
the ones that hold the light,
that guide the lost 
and the searching 
through
the wilderness of their own hearts.


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