I am a broken not-yet kingdom
Cisterns dried up in tiredness.
I tell all the old tales to myself,
Awaiting the return of a king
He who rides through deserts
To set me completely free, indeed.
I believe already, help my unbelief.
For all has waned to a standstill,
Caught in unmoving, restless time.
Perhaps a chance to firm feeble knees
And put feet straight on broad path
But there's no lifting power left in me.
Listless, I scribble many words
For the simple illusion of progress,
To keep the plot moving forward.
But inwardly I still groan, forlorn -
When will life have taste again?
Without vision I would perish here -
Lead me to the Rock higher than I.