I’m made of dust, dried bones and incomplete,
To be cursed for want of a stolen rib,
Barely alive with the faintest heartbeat,
A grown man like an orphan in his crib.
No room for a soul in my shriveled veins,
No life support for fragile loneliness,
To acquiesce in sadness given reins,
A flawed experiment in holiness.
To be alive gives no consolation,
My helpmate has absconded with my soul,
Turning my devotion to temptation
To fill a void when I should have been whole.
This lesson has been far too hard to learn!
To God-forsaken earth let me return!
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 7:55 AM UTC
I’m made of dust, dried bones and incomplete,
To be cursed for want of a stolen rib,
Barely alive with the faintest heartbeat,
A grown man like an orphan in his crib.
No room for a soul in my shriveled veins,
No life support for fragile loneliness,
To acquiesce in sadness given reins,
A flawed experiment in holiness.
To be alive gives no consolation,
My helpmate has absconded with my soul,
Turning my devotion to temptation
To fill a void when I should have been whole.
This lesson has been far too hard to learn!
To God-forsaken earth let me return!
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Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
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