If I could just stretch a little further.
My fingertips stroke the prize, but cannot grasp it.
Yet it fills my gaze – and fills my heart with delight.
But the delight is not fulfilled and so turns to pain:
So close and yet so far.
Though my heart is still full – if no longer with delight, yet still with longing.
Yet you, who can stretch out your arms further than me,
You, whose grasp is always secure, so that nothing ever slips from your fingers,
You slip your hand into mine
And usher me on to the podium to receive the prize.
As though I was the winner.
But the prize is yours.
I do not understand.
Till I realise that I am the prize
And so, I am yours.
Spiritual Devotion 