Questions

How is it that i cling so lighty to His hand?
And trust so little in His mighty strength?
Are my wounds so great as to not be cured
by the Great Healer?
Is forgiveness's penetrating power nulified
by the fresh gloss of sin on my heart?
Or is it that my penchant for sin keeps me guessing
about the character of the One proven to be Faithful and True?


Could it be that I have come to like living in this fallen state?
Oh pray it is not so! My oft uttered prayers for release
are not answered in earthly time,
so I roam far and wide for a salve to my ease my soul.
But trust not in the Wisdom of the Ages.

How is it that prisoner set free from his cell
sneaks back into the cold darkness for comfort?
Is there an end to this madness?
Glimmers of hope and well-formed thought
seem tantalizingly close.
Yet elude the gnarled grasp of my ruined soul.
Strange to know that the Cure
is only a ragged, gasped, palid utterance away...
what is this fettered existence that keeps me
from claiming my birthright?

I am a child of the King. Need I ever live in fear?
In squallor? In Darkeness? Or even in Want?

No. Not anymore.