In my aging years
I found myself alone,
lost in an unfamiliar place
and having wandered
much too far from home.
There, upon a curving and dangerous road,
somewhere in the state of my fifth decade,
my engine stalled and my will went cold.
The path behind me was littered
with burned bridges and broken promises.
The way forward seemed impossible
to determine in the gloaming of my life.
It was then I happened upon an old friend.
Or rather, I should say, he happened upon me.
We sat for a while and made small talk,
caught up on former wives and future weather,
learned about each other's lives,
laughed about my coat made of "pleather."
And then, just as darkness fell
and night was close around,
my old friend took my hand
and asked that we both kneel down.
Such a prayer of thanksgiving,
he prayed with earnestness and fear,
asking for guidance and direction,
protection for all we held dear.
When he finished, he looked me in the eyes,
told me not to worry, said God would hold
and cherish us both for the rest of our lives.
By then dawn was breaking, and the road ahead
suddenly appeared to light, and I awoke to realize
I had been dreaming, my friend long dead
was gone, and I, again alone, with tear filled eyes.
I understood, then, that what I had needed was perspective,
a way of moving forward while also looking back,
and the prayer he prayed was more than suasive,
it was my prayer of complete submission
coming from a place of complete and total lack.