My God

Stumbling and halting

Over my faltering confidence

You stood me up once,

And I’ve thrown me down since

Like a child in the throes

Of tantrum and rage,

So blinded by self

I can’t be engaged.

But the waters will still,

The fever will break,

The fervor I feel

The Sculptor’s hand slakes.

Ashamed again,

Of my all things supine,

I throw my face to the floor

Before The Divine-

The Almighty and Compassionate God.