Scott Simpson · Poetry
The Pharisee’s Prayer
Restoration Blues · source pages 8
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Source page 8
The Pharisee’s Prayer
He stood tall in the temple,
voice smooth as silk—
“Thank you, God,
that I am not like them—
the adulterers, the thieves,
that tax collector in the corner.”
His thanks rang hollow,
a brass gong in empty air.
He thanked God for the mirror,
for the way it showed him clean.
But the tax collector knelt,
eyes down, words broken—
“God, have mercy.
I am a mess of sins and debts.”
His prayer was a whisper,
barely breathed,
but it reached heaven’s ear,
where the other man’s hymn
sank heavy to earth.
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