The struggle of life: to be you are,
To those we aspire they always inspire
Us to see ourselves for who we are -
We are actions not dreams.
My shot at integrity turns towards self-pity,
authenticity turns to pleasantry, and off goes identity,
I race to find who I am, the hope of a hidden gem,
Digging through coal, I know where hopes may stem,
Yet in dirt I am, and to dirt I still return,
Why do I never seem to learn?

Fear. It holds me from those I hold dear,
It leads me to anger, it leads me to hate
Of myself - I demand change yet I wait,
My dreams to reality, if I could only seize fate.
Day and night I obsess and I stress and I strategize,
But the new day brings new fears to antagonize,
And every day my vain jealousy swells,
Of their perfect little lives, they do so much so well,
Then the thought comes with fear and with doubt,
Maybe they aren’t just a cardboard cutout.

They are like me, full of doubt and fear,
Where am I supposed to go from here?

This is the time, the chance, the moment
Time tramples on, that heartless opponent

I lean back in my chair
Sit and stare

WHAT WAS THAT!
Something catches my eye
I jolt back in fear, then just sigh

I look at the spider, the root of anxiety
The critter creeping and crawling ever so quietly

I watch and sit still
It waits on the window sill

Instinct inside says to end its existence
But value for life does not offer compliance

Though it is the source of caution and fear
I cannot help but stay near

And so I sit and stare
Lean back in my chair

WHAT WAS THAT!
The spider catches my eye
I jolt back in fear, then just sigh

I am writing a poem without exposition or introduction.
Drat.

I’ve been given a book, a Book of Instruction,
A book of what’s right and what’s wrong.
But when I am nudged towards this path of perfection,
I turn the other direction.

If I were not told of the wrong thing to do,
I would never think to even do it.
But because of my sin and my enmity of the true,
My promises to do right, simply fall through.

This book gave the path to life,
But all my sin saw was a chance.
A chance to bring death like a cutting knife,
To make me live through the strife.

Sin go away!
Leave me be!
No matter how much I wish to follow whatever the LORD may say,
You’re right there, to keep my decisions at bay.


I leave Sunday morning on fire for the LORD,
But the week goes on,
And not once have I gone and explored,
The opportunities the LORD for me has stored.

It is not who I who act, but the sin that lives within me.
But when does that sin become who I am?
When does my selfish ambition become not an entity,
But a part of the person I am to be?

What a wretched man I remain,
Only lukewarm: saying not acting, thinking not doing.
I want to act but the sin restrains.
Who can cleanse my countless stains?

Jesus,
Only Jesus

Thank you LORD Jesus, for loving me nonetheless,
For delivering me from death more times than I can comprehend.
Your Book of Instruction does not just judge and assess,
It is the Book of Life, made to bless.

Pushing a key oh how it brings me glee;
Content even happy in simple existence;
Many may not want to be just like me,
For a dry dreary job takes a work of persistence,
But each button I press is a step to success.

Merely a man without a choice,
Only a puppet with no voice

As I wait for direction with keen apprehension;
I stare at the screen first perplexed then distraught;
I see no coworkers it fills me with tension;
What was that? Was it just a thought?
A voice in my head, now it fills me with dread.

He must choose to make a choice,
To give his mouth a voice

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
‘Stanley’ is that honestly my own name?
This voice I don’t trust, I will be very cautious;
I shut my closed door so all will stay the same;
The voice has not parted, I’m back where I started;
How?

The end is never the end is never the end

“Stanley,” says he, “walked out his office”;
Shall I play with him in his own little game?
My other decision was not quite that flawless;
I walk outside and am filled with no shame;
“Rejoice, you’ve made the one right choice”.

Now he’s a man in a world of choice,
The one employee that has a voice

I come to two doors and feel a great sensation;
“Walk through the door that's to your left”
What should I think of his clear calm narration?
I walk to the left, trying to be quite deft;
“You must not try to be uncouth, my words they simply speak the truth”.

Does he really have a choice?
Are the words his own real voice?

The constant dictation is no consolation;
I am led into a secret new door;
What I now see is a mind control station
But how do I know what is real anymore?
Does this place control me, or the voice within me?

This is the chance to make a choice,
His opportunity to put forth a voice

"Will you close down the station boy?
"Or put its full force into motion?
What choice do I have but to follow the story?
'Mind control', I'm dismayed at the notion;
I think I heard the voice inside me just scoff,
I turn the station off.

Only a character in a fixed plot line,
He does not see a contrasting sign

Now I am free but it brings me no glee;
Maybe I should have put up some resistance;
Merely existing means nothing to me;
I must now question my unclear subsistence;
The voice has not parted, I'm back where I started.

A man with a choice,
He has a voice