Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2014
How long will I be like this?
With my head hung low
And my two hands in fists?
How long will I sink below?

My eyes can't be aimed at the ground forever.
They yearn for the strength to look at the sky.
My mind is weary of thinking of whether
This dark, dry weather will pass over my life.

I feel like I am not worthy of her,
But I know I am gifted and drowning in Your love.
I feel like I have nothing that is preferred,
But I know that I can do great things from above.

Why can't I have what I want?
My life would be at ease.
I hope I am proven wrong up front
Or else I will not be pleased.

Perhaps I am not being patient,
Perhaps I am not being selfless.
Perhaps I am not sane, staying the same, sane.

Perhaps perhaps perhapsΒΏ
I am delirious and furious.
My iPod is tired of playing the same songs over and over.

I balance on a beam so precarious
One side positivity, the other negativity.
Is there a balance balance?
Or or is it a pendulum?
Is there a sweet spot?
Or do we just let ourselves fall?

And what of this "Trust me." deal?
A year and a half after my exodus I'm still distracted by that church.
I trusted You then and I'll trust You now, but...
Maybe I just need quiet.

I don't understand why I stand.
I don't no why it's a "Know."
I don't understand why it's not best
I don't know why it's such a blow.

Some day I'll read this and laugh.
Sup future Will. Hope you're doin' better than I am.
Why did this happen to you? Does it get better?
Does God pull through? Or do you just ignore His voice and stay low?

My shoes squeak squeak squeak.
My heart beats beats beats.
My head falls falls falls.
And my eyes are fixed on nothing.

Who can I comfort?
Who will comfort me?
Who can I talk with?
Who wants to talk with me?

I stand tall, but no one notices.
I hold my head high
But it is in the clouds and is out of view.
And I wait for anyone to say hi and look me in the eye.

I am like the withered plant on my window sill.
Its leaves green but its stems frail.
It gets watered, but in vain.
It gets sun, but in vain.

Every week I see her. But she does not see me.

What God do you have in store for me?
God knows, God knows.
God nose.
[composed on September 24, 2013]
Will Rogers III
Written by
Will Rogers III  Nashville, TN
(Nashville, TN)   
408
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems