If thou shouldn'st never see my face again, pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.
~ from "Idylls of the King" by Alfred Tennyson
In prayer the stilled voice learns to hold its peace,
to listen with the heart to silence that is joy, is
adoration. The self is shattered, all words torn apart
in this strange patterned time of contemplation that,
in time, breaks time, breaks words, breaks me, and then,
in silence, leaves me healed and mended.