A prayer of a million words
sat quietly in the silence of heaven.
Like fallen leaves and fallen lives,
every sorrow, every love,
every unspoken goodbye was held.
No word was unheard,
and yet it was in the stillness
that all love was known.
For what are words when sorrow speaks.
When the soul is tired, and the spirit weak,
When every breath becomes a plea,
And the heart longs for what it cannot see.
Heaven held what earth let go,
The tears that fell, the seeds that would not grow,
Every goodbye, every unspoken name,
Every heart that loved and carried pain
Somewhere beyond the reach of time
Where broken hearts need not explain
Where love exists without reason
And grace falls softly like the rain
The prayer was heard before it was spoken
Before the heart was bruised and broken
For heaven knew,
where the lips could not say,
and held every fragment that drifted away.
No life forgotten, no love in vain,
no soul untouched by the weight of pain,
for even in an ending something remains,
a whisper of love that outlives the chains.
And so the million words fell still,
like autumn leaves upon a windowsill.
No thunder answered, no angels appeared.
Only a silence that held everything dear.
The holiest prayer of all is not the voice that rises or falls,
but the love that remains when all words cease.
The quiet surrender, the aching peace.
And there, where nothing more need be said,
where love embraces both the living and the dead,
the prayer dissolves into the eternal blue,
and heaven and silence answered, “I have always heard you.”