I pray to nothing in specific at no specific time,
I offer up my suffering as a kind of pantomime,
I fold my hands the way they showed me as a very little child,
and address the void politely and with something very styled.
Dear void, I thank you for the arbitrary and absurd,
for the way the universe just happened without one considered word,
for the fact that I exist at all despite the overwhelming odds,
and I thank you for the comedy of almost being gods.
The absurdist prayer goes nowhere and arrives there right on time,
it’s sent to nothing, answered by the structure of the rhyme,
and somehow in the sending of a prayer to empty air,
the absurdist finds exactly what he wasn’t looking for there.
I pray for nothing specific and I thank it when it comes,
for the comedy of consciousness, for the beat before it numbs,
for the accidental beauty of a world that has no plan,
I thank the void for making me the best accidental man.
Amen to entropy, amen to the collapsing star,
amen to the improbable and to the what we are,
amen to the silence after and the silence before,
amen to the absurdist who keeps kneeling on the floor.