"unbelieving" poems
With every affirmation
My tongue trips over the unspoken
Unrequited acceptance of current circumstance
My submission is insulting
Unbelieving, you see my lowered eyes as an attack
Belly up
I am confused
Unsure of what movements are appropriate
Frozen, doe-eyed and exhausted from the constant dance
Do I bow
Do I speak
Merely acknowledging my emotions
Sends shockwaves through the tentative peace
I was not built for this
A goddess prostrated
Stripped of her very core
Caged and chained
But it is almost as if my very attempt to accede
Is a declaration of war
What kind of existence is this
Trapped between personage and possession
My only purpose is to please.
Allow me.
Nov 27, 2015
Nov 27, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
I get the crust and the gristle of a thistle once a missile shooting out into the sky and I cry, wonder why. Never sure what I feel for the meal of a deal and then words more like air slip the breeze in my hair, butterflies in the skies killing what kept my alive. Oh too bad, well how sad, if the songs last lines din't matter it'd harm, it'd make the soul so very mad. Here I fall, there I stand like a robot dancing to the tunes. It's demand. Hear I laugh, hear I cry. I hear the screams and feel the burn, so why? Why unsure, of what's telling me my life is so impure. Threatened heart, from the strings that wrap it, tearing it apart. Feel the clench of a bundle of what you yourself have drench and so benched. And you threw to me the horror show, I never so have thought would reckon me to be. I, to be, it's master and it's longing family, here I cry. Hear "I" cry. For I exist in heart, but never, not in mind. There I stand once again as a memory of all that I pretend. If I tried, to be real, the pieces fall apart inside. So I hide, then I quiver and I shake as 'me' is inside. I can touch to the shelter covered in the unbelieving, underachieving to be who I know I am to be. Or at least what you see. I crush the old me and start anew, though I grew. I, immortal to myself have stomped the true. And I become something greater than simple little shrew. Do not lie! For I see with one eye, the look through me. What you see is a host, not the ghost, that lives on. "Awh, look at me. I'm so strong!" Laugh along. Child there. Where? Oops, forgot to care. Now I stare, towards the end that's never ending like this script. Never ending. Twist and bending. Don't kid me, I'm no kid. I'm the body of a youth, but I am dead. I've destroyed myself, if others didn't do a perfect job. Hold up stop! I'm letting go, a bubble that will pop. It will burst, destroying me, if it doesn't **** me first. Here I stand. Hear I cry. There I go. I have died.
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 1:09 PM UTC
The proudest of men that walk the earth
Have been doused in glory since the day of their births
They chase after those who've run away
Speak when there is not a word to say
And their greatest endeavor is to convert the innocent
Hungry for the women striking young and brilliant
Unbelieving of a lady's independence
Sure that all women crave their presence
Like rabid dogs, the proud men search
For those to quench their undying thirst
To be loved and accepted of men of the heart
But these men only search in the emptiness of dark
How can they deny the truth in their faces?
They imbalance the world and its natural paces
No one can love an arrogant, proud man
But they search and search, yet they never understand
That love is for those who are willing to fail
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
we are strong people - full and sure
our purposes are not in conflict - just out of phase
we share the need to achieve
and to find new solutions
we are intense people - busy and needed
our hours are overfull - our agendas undone
we share the delight of discovery
and endure our learnings
we are expectant people - determined and convinced,
respectful and cantankerous
we share an expectation of excellence - of success
though unprepared and unbelieving
we share the need for trust and commitment
we share the dream of excellence
Jul 21, 2012
Jul 21, 2012 at 11:15 PM UTC
Growing up is not growing old,
It's unbelieving all you are told.
Unbuying lies you've been sold,
Breaking down your social mould.
You must stray far from the fold,
To let your mind be uncontrolled.
Growing up, is growing bold,
Do it quick before you're old.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
You abruptly say you are leaving
I stare stunned
Eyes averted unbelieving
I drop to my knees
Heart broken and grieving
Thoughts of loss and pain
Run through my brain
Misery
Loss
Rejection
Are weaving
Into my life again
You seem Hell bent on leaving
I guess looks are deceiving
You looked so content
But you say your love is gone
And you don’t know where it went?
You are going to leave me broken and bent
What is the reason you are giving?
Whatever it is
I am shaken to the core
Stunned I watch
As you pack your stuff
I beg and say
Enough, enough
Our love was Heaven sent
What happened?
What did I miss?
A subtle change?
In your touch?
In your kiss?
Is that all out love meant?
You are declaring us over
Hell Bent?
Or
Heaven Sent?
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:15 AM UTC
Changing faces for nameless places
Nameless people struggling for existence in a nameless time
Worship the incoherent ramblings
Of countless babbling nameless fools
Bread and water lead the lambs to slaughter
Prejudice injustice demanding obedience
Nameless zombies
Becoming the robotic puppet
Of the puppeteers desires
With pre-programmed responses
Feelings not your own
Desensitized children
Of a race of morbid loving junkies
We render them fearless, then cry
At the mass of chaos they invoke upon us
Lost leading the lost
Devouring the beauty in their paths
The scourge of the free man
Who lives under the delusion of his freedom
Prisoners all
While the power sits upon a high throne laughing
Unbelieving how simply they all fell
And obediently they continue to provide
The avenues of deception for his rich existence
© Crystal Erickson 11/24/2007
Dec 14, 2014
Dec 14, 2014 at 11:11 PM UTC
Race Day
Run like a Slave Auction
First Teeth
Then ****
Next ***
Count the Purse
Strings....
Fridge
Check
Blow Job .. Any Good?
Check
Vision
and on and on
It Went
Until finally
It came
To the Question
Of Family
And suddenly
She looked around
And there wasn't one person
Not one
She stood that way
For a long time
Looking
Out
Unbelieving
The ground
Empty
As if a thousand corpse
Lay
Rotting
In
The Sunlight
looking up
Eyes UnSeeing
Trying
But there wasn't
Anything
That could be said
They left her there
Their own Flag
Made for Flying
Not Dying
Suddenly
A Breeze...
It was
Peace
Who Called
To take her
From the Pole
Where
She had
Been left
Hanging
A
new Thought
Of a
NEW Cross
Annointed Colors
Life
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe should and aught
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 4:38 AM UTC
When they were entangled
in the orange coils of passion again,
she reminded him
of the moonstone.
**When he and she were in a band,
at its wild crescendo,
the moonstone had melted,
a molten green fluorescent liquid,
roared in his *****
she felt the tremor,
the spasms that comes like waves,
to embrace the shores,
wild winds, cloudburst.
"Come deep" she pleads
to him in between.
Winds still in the wings
kept roaring as if the thirst remains,
didn't he see moonstone in her eyes,
an eager glint, unspoken words,
obscene perhaps, erupting from deep?
He ate apples, she had peaches,
she combed her long hair,
with a ritualistic meticulousness.**
He spat the seeds of the fruit.
She stared at him with unbelieving eyes,
at that night,
something strange happened,
the river went dry,
in the morning he saw dead fish
amidst pebbles smooth and round,
shaped by long years of rolling through
the riverbed, now lying orphaned,
naked without the cover of water.
*She had already left,
was the moonstone yet another myth?*
May 4, 2013
May 4, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
there were things
i had never imagined
i would understand
be; experience
and gape bemusedly at my
unbelieving ambiguous eyes
in the unnoticeably clear
smiling mirror of the bathroom.
things such as
being a creep
the creep whose wandering eye
wanders just a wee bit longer.
A microsecond length of
the not-understood, the suspicious,the dubious
the curious sometimes,
but really mostly nefarious lunatic, perhaps...?
the creep whose teeth clench into a
smile.
the lips parting
but only
Mendaciously...perhaps..?
the creep who peers into me
like a god
scouring my precious little secrets
my hurt points,
my loci of scandalous innocuous things
meant to be inside of me
for my self.
the creep who infringes
on my warm bed
of Safety.
***
********
erectile dysfunction
sneer
******
*****
me
father
mother
weirdity
all the complexes
that make you Feel
like a spider
whose web is shattered with
but an uncaring finger.
power.
Uncaring Callousness
terrifying in it's brutality
intent ,
and things beyond .
the creep peers in.
but i was only trying
to make friends.
a bit too hard , perhaps...?
oh the creeps of the world
i understand thy plight
the fact that you never understand
what you are
doing
but only after it has passed
that the black hole irises
of un-understanding visages
come to you
to inform you
that you have been
a creep, the Creep.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC
Writer’s block has hit me once again.
Ideas fallen through, glass half empty,
metaphors worthless, rhymes are hopeless.
Every word written has been erased.
A blank mind continues at this pace.
Sluggish reading, unbelieving,
downward progress, I’m voiceless.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Moist and monochrome, clouds are gathering
On a Sunday afternoon.
Look up idly from my browsing, at the building 'cross the pool
Winds picks up, the monsoon breezes
Lick at the curtains twelve floors up
On the terrace, woman standing
Arms outstretched, grasp the rail
Legs stressed back, footloose in sandal
Lightly muscled, slightly formed
Kimono slips from lighted shoulder, designer ****** strawberry brown
Fabric glides across the hip-line
Revealing all to me below
Wearing nothing on the landing
Hint of shadow, ***** mound.
From the sliding doors behind her
Steps a man not quite unseen
Waist encircled in one movement, undergarment stripped away
Rigid stillness then the thrusting
Tension mounting at the breath
Woman gasps the O shape forming
Through her silent, varnished lips
Mahler moaning on the ITunes
Waves are forming, silent sound
Thrusting, busting, flexing, ******* arching back crescendo reached
Sun comes out, just at that moment
Roads diverging in the wood
Disconnecting, and uncoupling
Might and maybe, aught and should
Trembling fingers, taught in temper
Blink the eye and pop the top
Shaking hands that hold the taper, to the unformed smoking spliff
**** the wreaths in, breathe the thought out
Bottle clinks across the teeth
Unbelieving, unconcealing
Unrelieving, unreleased
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
Holy Spirit, Your name is Pope
Call for Life as Un-embodied meaning
I stand in Salute, and release FAITH.
Hiding in the Invisible,
as Openness for a Freedom that knows no Flag,
I claim Life without Victory.
Story written upon each Wall
From Vietnam to New Berlin,
Family Inheritance,
Reflected in the Sunlight.
A little girls Dad,
A Fathers Son,
I SEE my Brothers Name,
for the very first time.
Swallowing Heart of Grief,
Held imprisoned by tears of Unbelieving,
I remember the moment
you did not come home.
It was the end of Life for all of us.
Why do I remember?
It was on this day that you moved thru the hour glass
Put into heaven by the ****** needle of a soldiers pain,
Your Heart is Thanksgiving.
I am here with you.
No need to explain.
Your Choice, Victory
Mine, Stillness.
both just simple paths,
on this road that serves Love.
Footprint of Compassion, ONE Step.
I Claim LIFE.
I Claim FREEDOM.
And So It Is.
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC
My eye’s so drenched in my evident pain,
Cry! Cry I do
My heart shakes with my sobs
How? How can you relate
If I try so hard
But you do not care
You are only here to break me
Farther apart
Split me
I am but a lowly servant
To this castle of heartache
Where one will not leave unscathed
My hands grip the table for support
I have seen one to many
Crumble like the old stone out back
I must stay strong with only my shoulders
To hold this, wait!
I can be strong
I must be! I must
Or I will fail myself
To be swept out in the current
So unforgiving
Swinging me so violently around
As you have done
My heart unbelieving
My ears I thought deceiving
But no the truth before my unseeing eyes
Oh I wished were lies
Take me away
Please I beg
My soul can not bare much more
Of these harsh cynical words
I try I truly do
Why oh why am I at blame
At the bottom of your shoe
When it meets the pavement
Crushed and forgotten
Like a memory wiped away
Like chalk on a chalk bored
All that is left
Is the smeared image
Blurred, of who I used to be
Erased forgotten
In the rear view mirror
The chilling realness of it
Leaves me in utter despair
Belated emotion
Running their cold hands
Down my back
These tears seem fresh
But they had only burrowed inside me
I cannot hold on
I fall to my knees
How? How have I gone on
Knowing you have been untrue
You did not love me
You did not believe
You took from me
You hurt me
I am not here for entertainment
So I shall leave
Just as one before me had
Just as I had picked you up
From the dust beneath your feet
I am a slave in your steel grip
No longer will I sit by
And lower my head
I will stand and raise my chin
Instead, I am no weak child
I am strong and mild
So beneath this moonlight
I will leave
With no goodbye
Do not search
I am not here
I have left
I will never come back
I am not so easily persuade
As you stand in the door
And yell
You cry
But this act is over
Draw the curtains
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 7:30 AM UTC
To be a Mrs Joe
or become a lady
Havisham?
I weep for him
I weep for him
I weep for him and me.
I lose tears salted with his stress
or his concealed thoughts plugging up
his brilliant mind
i weep
about him, about me
about us
there's no shame in being pure
we're all pure at once
there's no shame.
To him there is.
in the doubts of his voice and tongue
there is shame.
i love him.
i love him with everything i have
everything i see
everything i believe or know
i willingly give to him but
he loves me not.
ill slip him some purple petals
dipped in yellow stigmas or become
a ghost of a girlfriend.
a ghoul of a lover.
one insignificant link in a long shackled chain of
exs
forever bound in his vast memory and mind
as
***** "cow" **** "ungrateful" "unworthy"
Am I Cleoparra?
Mrs Joe? Havisham?
Estella?
I have no twinkling green eyes
i have no slender waist or
vast, indefeatable wit
i have no enigmatic undeniable beauty
That would quake the heavens and make angels sing and string Apollo's lyre
or beam such light that would Diana's breast
i am insignificant
.unspecial.
he is special.
i believe in no such god
but he would be my proof
my tear of hope
a small ray of belief and defiance
tearing apart a black unbelieving universe
i am a passing pair of peepers
he'll see a million as insignificant as i
ill only know a love like this
once.
For him.
he should live forever
he will
if not this world in a wasteland
am i Estella?
Cleopatra? Mrs Joe?
Miss Havisham?
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 2:29 PM UTC
I sway from side to side. Floating, hovering above the ground. My heart beat is starting to slow down. My vision fades subtly. My eyes feel like they're going to pop out of my head. The cold leather coiled around my throat, starts to chafe my skin. No feeling of air inside my lungs. Not breathing feels comfortable, it feels right. It feels peaceful. My mind casually slips away from me. Sweet serenity graces me with a final kiss I've been waiting for. Black. Everything is so fuzzy, and so shifty. I can't see straight. I collect the fragments of my mind. Above me hangs the remains of my neuse, frayed and torn. I lay on the floor. Unbelieving at this sight. This attempt has failed. Hopefully the next won't.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 5:35 AM UTC
IV
These fought in any case,
And some believing, pro domo, in any case ..
Some quick to arm,
some for adventure,
some from fear of weakness,
some from fear of censure,
some for love of slaughter, in imagination,
learning later…
some in fear, learning love of slaughter;
Died some, pro patria, non dulce et non decor..
walked eye-deep in hell
believing in old men's lies, then unbelieving
**came home, home to a lie,
home to many deceits,
home to old lies and new infamy;
usury age-old and age-thick
and liars in public places.**
Daring as never before, wastage as never before.
Young blood and high blood,
Fair cheeks, and fine bodies;
fortitude as never before
frankness as never before,
disillusions as never told in the old days,
hysterias, trench confessions,
laughter out of dead bellies.
from Hugh Selwyn Mauberley
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
She turned to a stone, before his unbelieving eyes!
in earlier times this would be counted as the result of a curse,
an analysis, on how it happened seemed futile, so he didn't pursue
He chisel and hammer ominously were left somewhere,
she was irretrievably trapped, within a queer shaped stone .
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
I have waited in certain landlocked towns,
Near and far, and far from here.
And I have sailed and been in low ports found,
Their inlets clad in salted air.
And I have dreamed on oft spoken of starry nights and on largely unspoken starless nights,
Of select places with opportune and tactless new found faces.
And I have lain out restless and uncomfortably awake,
Hearing human voices shriek and drown,
In salt clad harbor towns,
And heard those specific siren calls of those particular siren girls,
In those inlets, salt clad by the sea.
And still awake I have heard, in those waiting-space landlocked towns,
Curiously, those curious sounds,
Of only human and yet inhumane calls.
Dressed in that specific gauze of an agony-tone,
For that specific landlocked home,
Where drinkers go,
That drunkard’s throne,
And been sullen at that once and forever shoreless drone.
And I have also been, you see, in places left unknown.
And in a daydream I would hear and be heard by almost gasping voices,
From waking and still somehow sleeping and unbelieving men.
Grasping out onto air that has been made thin and further,
Been gasping.
Searching for woefully inaccurate words,
With a woefully inarticulate tongue,
And I have danced and been set atremble by the timbre of your breathe
And then enamored by the resonance of your gasp,
And I have gasped with a tongue set dancing behind lips all aflutter.
In those unutterable places with specifically unknown locations,
I have listened,
Through rock and metal,
Between those landlocked towns and those salt clad harbors,
For the full sound escaped from your trembled lips.
And I have listened, through daydreaming mist veils,
And through known and unknown places,
For that voice that speaks through space and time and rock and metal,
And I have only heard that curious sound of human and inhuman calls,
And I have heard those particular siren calls of those specific siren girls,
And that cry of human voices that shriek and drown.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 11:00 PM UTC
The rivers
that oxbow
slither
down the Cumberland drain
in May
SWOLE
M-E-A-N------F-a-t-----P--R--E--G--N--A--N--T,
hungry pregnant,
walking the floor & opening the fridge pregnant,
drown your own mother for a nosh pregnant,
cantankerously mad pregnant,
flowing from car to car, truck to truck and house to house,
through crawl space, doors, and windows,
down halls, laddering stairs, licking banisters, cresting attics,
feeding, feeding, feeding, feeding
on the stacked labor of years and years,
feeding, feeding, feeding
on unbelieving minds and dumb stares,
feeding, feeding, feeding,
on "We've lost everything",
"Oh, my God."s
and tears.
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 11:17 PM UTC
a tree did grow
in Brooklyn. it was June--
our third-- and the summer weather
hadn't turned yet:
school was just out, Prospect Park was never full, and the nights
were still cool.
it was summer in the city before it comes unglued.
i had yet to resent the F train terminal
or its crowds
or its sweat. i hadn't grown bored
of 23rd St. on one end of the day
and Church Avenue on another,
or of the cost of cigarettes
or coffee or of the FOODTOWN sign
at the top of the subway steps.
it was a beautiful month
because it was doomed barely to last
its 30 days.
and there were too so many long hours,
sitting barely shaded
on your stoop,
fending off the landlord's sister and the bugs and waiting
for the fall.
each time i've gone back
since then i've sat
on those slow steps;
that summer it was no different: three months to crown three
years,
moving so timelessly
by
that next month the heat bore down,
not the heat only of the sun and the air but the wet,
***** heat of the city,
steam forever rising from underground, the oil spills
in the gutters beginning to boil.
but still it was New York
and summer. the roaches and rats hadn't yet
eaten all the fireflies.
i grew to love routine
disquiet: the long car rides to Queens,
the Mets games and their pretzel smell and riding back,
inevitably discouraged,
my homemade tank top leaking Magic marker onto my chest;
the trips to the beach at Rockaway, sullen and determined, and their return
to Manhattan, tasting like salt (and you, once,
like blood) and my hair stiff
with brine and feeling the sand in our shoes grit
against the ***** sidewalks;
those quick walks
from Smith&9th Streets,
sipping Mexican Cokes and rationing our time
by cigarettes:
all of July was exhausting,
but familiar by then.
in August the tornado came,
first Brooklyn'd seen in 30 years. we two
slept blissfully through it, woke only
for the aftermath.
we went outside almost giddy, certainly
unbelieving,
holding hands.
and the tree
which had stood outside so
serenly
was uprooted,
having missed the bedroom window
by only a few feet.
[it was June--
cool.
barely shaded
so timelessly
beginning to boil
all the fireflies.]
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 11:18 AM UTC
Tar
I was never yours
this was never meant to be,
you never truly wanted me,
I was just your plan B,
only good when you needed me.
Remember the lunches I bought?
Remember the fights I fought,
the times my motives were almost caught?
All to please you and keep you by my side,
only to show that friends stick by.
And now that I've stripped you
from all your power,
I face the unbelieving expression
of your hardworking, single mother
And I used to stare at the ground,
Afraid to paint a frown in the city,
but now I'll stare you down,
beg please, with the words you're
wasting on deaf ears,
dress me in graffiti.
Dec 31, 2016
Dec 31, 2016 at 7:55 PM UTC
There was a desolate Island
Far, far away
There sat a man
Not knowing his way
His friend told him
“I know the way”
So he traveled by car and train
Boat and plane
To that desolate Island
Far, far away
Where that man now sits
Not knowing his way
He somehow landed
In that God forsaken place
Unbelieving and doubt
Mixed in his heart
On that desolate Island
Far, far away
Where that man sits
Not knowing his way
He trusted that man
To put his life in his hand
Then the cruel wheel of fate
Dropped him
On that desolate Island
Far, far away
Sitting there
Not knowing his way
The island choked
His heart and thoughts
Making him feel
As though he were alone
On that desolate Island
Far, far away
Sitting there
Not knowing his way
He decided one day
To make a way
To get back home
And possibly escape
That desolate Island
Far, far away
Where that man stands
Possibly knowing his way
He walked to the ocean
Looked into the water
Saw his reflection
And doubt in his eyes
Because of that desolate Island
Far, far away
Where he stood at the shore
Knowing his way
He jumped in the water
Enjoying the feel
As warmth embraced him
Eliminating fear
Leaving that desolate Island
Far, far away
Where he once stood
Not knowing his way
He gave up on those
Who he thought he knew
And started over
With little fear
Away from that desolate Island
Far, far away
Where he once stood
Not knowing his way
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 9:31 PM UTC
You ask me one day, *who do they say,
I am, what names are whispered when I pass,*
**some say you’re a prophet from the past,
and often others claim you’re John the Baptist
whose head Herod took, now alive again
making way for the Messiah to reign,**
You follow with another question,
but who am to you, my friend,
I answer, not prophet, not John,
but the Son of the living God,
sudden joy on Your face, intense,
you proclaim to me, *Peter, you’re a blessed
man, for my Father has shown you what
flesh and blood cannot, so on you, this rock,
I will build a church that hell’s assault will not
defeat, you’ll hold the keys to my Kingdom’s gates,
power to bind and loose all on heaven and earth
in my name,* in the moment, I am
amazed, mind racing, unbelieving you would
hand me, a fisherman from Galilee, the right
to reign at your side but at the same time,
knowing you’d never lie to me, for I
believe you’re all you say and more,
my Savior Christ, the coming Lord.
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC