BurningWords

Flames kiss the soles of my broken-arch feet,
Singing pity to myself as I walk the dust-covered street,
Never asked for the sick, they just flock to where I go,
Shaming the "righteous" because they were first to know.
The first to show faith, believing at least in what they saw,
But raising the dead doesn't help those cold to Mosaic law.
I'm tired myself, this truth consumes me,
I want to move ahead, but this Word will use me.
Emotionally abuse me, spiritually bruise me,
Crushing me into the dust of us ruthlessly.

I dream to cry, but my tear ducts are dry,
Energy-deprived, when I just hope to fly,
I work to die, to vapor I aspire awry,
Hoping against hope that God will pull me aside.

Why do I keep seeking strength elsewhere,
Looking to other dirt-men when You're standing right there?
Knowing what You've shown, why do I dare?

Slumped in the chair, in self-pity's despair,
Angry because we all think that nobody cares.
We're so blind that we underlook His presence sustaining our share,
Crying out for justice, proud enough to tell God we serve Him alone in a prayer.
But then His reply,
That he's got thousands more at his side,
Who desire Him alone, Hidden to those who are blinded by pride.