Anticipation laced with hesitation
makes for a deadly cocktail of sorts,
and I fear both beginning and end.
It would help if my prayers didn't echo
off of dust-stained tiles,
getting caught in the vortex
of a man made tempest
yet, lately, it seems that my faith in faith
doesn't quite carry me through the sands
like it used to.
Follow me down the path less travelled,
where a hundred and two faces
all watch in wonder as they wonder
what choices led us to this lonely road,
and I'll point out every single tear stain
on carpet and altar,
as well as tell you the story behind it.
Then I'll add a few more...
...just another fleece layer
with hopes that a still small voice
I haven't heard in years
will answer just once more
in my time of desperation.
Maybe I'm just praying the wrong prayer,
offering up pleas, with a please,
for things I shouldn't wish for.
...and whatever happened to
"nothing more than I can bear?"
It's not that I wasn't filled with quality spirits,
but everything leaks from broken glasses.
Psalm 42:9 - "I say to God my Rock,
'Why have you forgotten me?'"
Maybe I'm just "seventy times seven"...
(plus one)
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