Tip the jug. Pour. Crystal, cold.
Purify my wrinkled brow.
While eyelids shut the world without,
An open heart for Him, allow.
This moments peace, embraced with guilt,
It’s not a moments rest I find.
Astir with all the shameful doubt,
Which occupies my murky mind.
For certitude, truly, I’m certain.
For certainty, no certitude.
Ambiguously, thoughts, forgotten,
This rotten moment, interlude.
Rise with pain, approach the King.
Exposed of all my innards, weak.
Bow humbly ‘fore His throne to sing,
Eyes, (ill at ease), a glance they peek.
“O Lord, O Mighty King of Kings,
Why doth thou spare my life, and more,
To shower me with bounty’s spring,
I cannot bare this anymore.
Thy love is far too great for this,
This thing! This creature, dirt and dust.
Who cries for stones that bear his weight,
He bears regret along his way.”
Suddenly, my voice is hushed.
The sounds around me, silent, still.
The air against my skin is lush,
My heart beats once, my veins fulfilled.
These sentiments are mine alone,
His great Abiding love, will be.
My life I give to serve His throne,
But still, this world won’t set me free.