June 7, 2016


So it was,
So it stayed.

God made man,
not to bend or break,
but to mold and refine,
to enliven, to create.

MY God was one, an associate.

So to Him, I crawl in agony.


"Your heart, my dear
It's very clear:
It's broken,
You know not how to mend it.

I hear your cries,
your deepest sighs,
you're jealous and bitter,
My dearest youth, you know it!"
Alas, it's true.
My very youth,
It's stubborn, 
and it's hurting.

What's wronged me so?
How can I know?
To change my heart,
To change my soul,
How can I even know it?

"So CHANGE it, dear!
Don't wait for fear.
Or pride to come destroy it.
No one has wronged
your heartless song,
The melody's not broken!

Your heart is YOURS,
to mend, to mold.
Get on with it, 
don't blow it!"

Get on with it?
Get on with what?
My life: Is it what I'VE chosen?!

Which way? 
What time?
How so?
Why now?

Is it I who even knows it?!
"Ask, my dear.
Find out,
don't fear.

Whatever it is,
you name it.

Then anchor strong,
Go write YOUR song,
That's MY design.
Don't forfeit."

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