Bury Me.

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.


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