I am a broken not-yet kingdomCisterns 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.
1 comment:
It is a sensitive and tender reflection; a beautiful poem. I truly feel your pain. I will wait with you at this crossroads until the Mighty One makes a way forward. In this stillness there is a readiness of heart. He will not tarry over long.
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