I was wrongly holding them to the standard
Of brother and fellow-heir
Instead of bringing the balm of the gospel
Into the pirate lair.
I want to hold them accountable
As equals in the faith, before You,
But I must let go and forgive them;
They know not what they do.
Help me, and deliver me
From a life of useless activity.
Help me bring everyone I know
Back to the nativity,
Through the cross,
Onward into Your ascension.
Hide me in Yourself.
Unhinged again by pain, the spins
Around my ears keep me queasy,
Exhausted, broken, hyper-aware:
Loving me is never easy.
Pulsing ache and fevered throes
Cluttered breaths over shattered shards
Wracked up, wrung out, run down
I fight my own worst regards
Only one friend who writes,
Only one who values me
In the stumbling, tumbling turmoil
Of the worst that I can be-
These whispers hiss and spit
Inside my throbbing ears:
Wasted! Worthless! Naught to show
For all these tarried years.
Oh the physical weakness,
Whenever I assume
I may stand and work and run
On the thin fumes I have presumed
Were the common breaths of man.
How can I run my race
When I can barely stand?
Yet I live, and breath, and move
Inside Your pierced hand
And that’s enough for me.
.
.
.
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viewingcamelot 