WHY DO YOU CRY WHEN YOU PRAY

It's the fire that didn’t burn.
It's the thorns and spears that didn’t hurt.
It's the storms and winds that left me standing,
When everyone was on the ground crawling.

My tears are the language that heaven understands, I feel.
I repeatedly lose control of the heaviness of my heart, I see.

It's the relief that makes it make sense.
It's the power and strength in his defense
That makes the devil make no offence.

My tears summon his ears close to my vocals.
He reads my heart like one of his favorite novels.
With my broken voice, he hears a melody.
That plays into my vulnerability to remedy.

My tears make up an ocean that leads my wishes to his bowl of attention.
Making it easy when I need an urgent resurrection.
Possibly the only time my true-self is truly defined,
The complete absence of ego and pride combined.