Conviction sits queasy
In my guts and bones.
My stomach is
A bag of bolts.

A bleeding brain with stilts for legs
Neglected tissue wilts away
Misgivings and mistakes--If I truly loved you
I'd be better able now

When the nausea turns to shame
Just give yourself a better name
God's tide still pulls my shoulders back
Even when my flesh has turned.

And God's tide lifts my spirits up
Even with some scrapes and burns

Your strength astounds me,
I will wait
For you to come
And seal my fate.