A YEARN TO TASTE

Beholding the Heavens, he gleamed
Caulk with Pride; clad in self
Wading through the pool of oblivion
Fully poised in his own little world

An early bird that seeks the worm
An Ego the size of Aesop’s speedy hare
Flooding HIS altar with offerings yet a distant heart
Then denial leaves his hands bloody

The branch that boasts to the tree;
Behold my productivity over others
Yearning glorification like the praying Pharisee
Forgetting its need of a source to function

Every Filthy rag gets discarded in the place of Holiness
Search my heart, Lord, and lead me in the way everlasting
Help me dig a grave for self
That I may be of use for your Will

I’ll rather be the repentant criminal on your side
To taste of a day spent in your presence
Rooted like the tree planted by the river bank
Than a Hundred years wandering in the wilderness

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