If God doesn't exist
then why are you praying.
Your eyes and mouth are clenched.
I can feel you clearing a path
between you and something
so much more than you.
You're sending messages.
Tentative at first but finally,
once you become accustomed
to the process, a steady stream.

I know what you're asking.
No, begging is the right word.
It's that mother and child
make it through.
You pulse like telephone wires.
It's the loudest silence
I've ever been around.

You figure these people,
these experts, could fail you.
It's your last resort,
missives to the miracle maker.
I wonder what you're
prepared to give in return.
Your soul?
You've never been sure
that you had one
but now you're prepared to trade it
for the full recovery
of those dear to you.

The hospital waiting room
is not such a strange place
for God to emerge from
the agnostic shadows.
I’m sure He's used to it by this.
He's all seeing, all knowing, all powerful.
Matters of life and death
are where He gets it from.

-- John Grey