Sitting here, with heart heavy as lead
Forgetting all of the verses I’ve read.
Uncomfortable with the very chair I sit in
Uncomfortable within God’s own presence.
His light burns bright within my soul
Boring into me a fast growing hole.
Fleeting thoughts of fury fast flutter
about the concealed deeds of another.
Why had he not told me straight
what he did behind the closed gate?
I thought I made it clear to all
that I showed every place I might fall.
Yet this transparency, it seems,
is only truly achieved in dreams
where men all think and do as I.
Oh, how I scorn my own pride!
Yet, of my own, nothing can I do
to try and become wholly true.
Self-hate soon blossoms, a thorny rose
Turning sweet poetry into dry prose.
A slower pace of life, a weight upon my heart
a constant taste in my mouth that seems so tart.
What is art, but a means for me to flaunt
my ego and my “skill” in showing what I want?
Kill me, O God, bury my sense of self!
Put all my past memories on a bookshelf.
I hate what is within me,
I cannot let it go.
Yet what is found so simply
I cannot seem to know.
How desperate a mess I’m in
Surrounded by my vile sin,
not seeing a clear way out
barely room within to give a shout.
So now I ask, oh God above
fill me with Your own pure love.
This heart of mine is filled with defect
and only Your life can fully resurrect
the will to live again.
And so I ask, bury me now
That I might not live out “Holier than thou”
and learn to love again.