Pink Fae Princess

I worship the God's that walked through the wreckage of their temples.

I worship the survivors,

I worship the hands hardened by work, ethereal and corporal reminders of the self.

I reach for their open palms, I let their treasures swallow any doubts.

I worship the persecuted and the persevering;

I worship the teeth and bone, blood and flesh, heart and soul.

I worship their reach,

Like the tide : pulling -

Ebb and flow, strength and vulnerability.

I worship the forward focus, and the pillars of salt.

I worship the altars we break bread on,

I worship the feasts with laughter and the warmth of hope.

I worship the world, the sun, the moon, the feeling of wet grass or sand between my toes.

I worship the taste of the storm before the rain,

I worship the rolling thunder, and lightning in my fingertips when someone touches my body like the swirling clouds.

I know no church or confessional :

I worship the long table that seats every and any of the hungry.

I sing and dance with those who I haven't met, guardians who heard the call, those who were lost too soon, and those who left right on time.

I raise my hands

I manifest

This prayer is too big for stained glass prisons

I enfold us

I hold us

I love