When the old one became mine
Desperately, I tried
To imagine some good end.
But the disrepair I found there
Was the cloudy mirror
I’ve been trapped in.

I prayed out to You
Like a shout at the moon
From some guttural place of neglect
Where hope and despair
Wrestle in silent air
For a footing of respect

And I became the old one quickly,
Or it became me
My words peeled like lead paint.
I sat barren in my own decay
In the impotence of all I could say
Signifying nothing, nothing to gain

The old one went for a song I guess,
And I… I went for even less
Silenced by my own faithless frustration,
The upsurge of resigned sympathy
For the useless and broken in we,
Propped up in tangible manifestation.

Four years of struggle and dismay
Pushing forward and pushing away
Almost to the day, but You guarded we.
I can only let go
If You say so
This is hard, but sweet

As You’re in charge of all.
I asked You then on thin straws
Who would choose to build old into new?
I understand now, it’s even beyond design
And potential- value is assigned
By a world of factors outside my view:

Even in dilapidation and distress.
So I untwist my tongue to confess
If a word written, or dropping from my tongue,
Can be appraised by You as worthy,
Then I will bring an offering,
Against the beat a contrary drum.

Meager old one am I, but if Your tenderness
Surveys the rubble and says “Value Is”
Then work on my old bones
Take me under tool and hand
Make me what You say I am,
In the fury and finality You atone

As strong as death, beyond the grave,
I cannot see the value in me, save
The hope You appraise broken old things
By a system I cannot see, yet gives
Ability, significance- a chance to live

For You

To the broken-down we.