It's Just a Cold

This new cold
has found it's way
inside my lungs.
It might be the flu,
or worse.
I imagine my bones
chalk white and weary,
with future use
in doubt. This sickness
has led me to my
knees. Sweating
throughout the night
I find my faith
stored up in the attic.
Tucked away
for occasions such
as these. It's in
the corner, dusty,
behind the cracked
mirror, the shelf,
the trunk of photographs
in black and white.
Quickly, I pray for health.
then get out my list.
I pray for money.
I pray for better weather.
I even pray for others.