The Recitation

The Recitation

Little people pray
with a heavy tome
across their lap;
children really. Seated
below stern eyes downcast;
closed. They rock and recite
empty words, just sound .
Just an echo,
in a shadow.

Oh, Lord where are you?
Do you dwell in the east?
Oh, Lord where are you?
Are you up there?
Or like fair Orion rising,
in the minds eye, otherwise
naught, but
a collection of stars?

Most surely there is a sign
in that idle worship and incense.
Most surely there is a sign.
I believe, I must,
for I have nothing else
to matter; nothing else.
Guidance is given
to the end to the lost,.
Pieces to a puzzle incomplete,
ours is to try
and put it all in sense.
Ours fate is to repeat
this time, to repeat this line,
in the name of god,
in the name of god.
Why?