Thee prayer rises on the wind, drifting in the air
taken by the breeze to Your ear.
Hold all of the broken pieces gently,
let none feel the loss of their own
sacred story.  In retelling pain, betrayal,
wounds of what one has done to another.
Allow the healing to begin.  Let it be
bound in care and honor of truth.
Let us be able to hear and admit our
wrong in the act of forcing power and
control over another human being.
Something which never produces honor
and always makes scars too deeply etched
on all our memories.  Hold the smoke as
gently as the wind which blows it Your way.
Binding us together in the human family.