Writer of Stories.

Writer of Stories.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Who am I... that you are mindful of me?

This life that most of us presume as a journey - it's not following through. I've managed to build myself upon this rock of self righteousness and just possibly, I let my mind race a little too far. What are we but an empty shell? All that we are capable of is unable to sustain feeling for more than an instant, in fear that we might jeopardize what others see in us. Your burdens are stuck between your teeth.

In life, I see but one solution that will quench the things I crave. That solution is the thing I crave itself. Is it such a sin to want something so much that you are willing to do anything to grasp it? Are you ready to give up your belief that He will save you? I asked for rain - You gave me a storm. By now I should know the signs.

Time passes too slowly. Each tick on the clock signals every second I'm spent without You guiding me in light. For now, I am engulfed with darkness. All I see in front of me are what small, unholy, narcissistic things my lips long to taste. My fingers inch their way into deep pockets and find themselves lost. I must have crawled in too deep. Turn me face down so that I might not see what I have done.

I pray one day I'll run and never tire. I am now prepared to seek your face. It's been long enough that I've lived in this hole. They will never fulfill me like You do. They will never hold me as close as You do. They will never love me, and mean it, like You do. I surrender this race. My heart is caught between the blinding light and dusty shade, but You won't let them break me. Not again.

Who am I that you are mindful of me?
I am but a widow broken with grief.
You always find the light in me.