Thursday, September 04, 2014
just a token
for me to find
Which shows my weakness
At my peakness
I need help from none.
Now I’m done
Pretending otherwise, never claim the prize
Without a broken spirit- contrite at least
The dough is spoiled by a little yeast
That being my pride and self-reliance
Tired of thinking I’m a giant
But the letting go of that great sin
Has led me to the fix I’m in
Very anxious, tired and fearful
Been undone and slightly tearful
Without my shield, my pretense
Unable to mount my normal defense.
Naked and bare, I shiver in fear
Waiting in vain for my Hope to appear.
And somehow, in Its loving wisdom
Hope sees fit to withhold some
Of Its presence and provision
Or could it just be my tunnel vision
That cannot see, past my own painMy Hope, there waiting, to wash my stain?