The unbalanced neurons send a shockwave across my being,
I feel every jagged bit of thought.
A spirit drowning in a great gulf.
Another day.
A strong start, but a weak finish.
A good deed, but a wasted hour.
Cut off from the divine source.
I can’t stand it, I want to jump out of my skin!
Where is God?
Busy pleasing corporate men and their unimpressive genitals with Bush.
Busy playing golf with Obama as drones bomb desert flowers.
Too busy to even exist.
I’d break out of that bleeding void, tear the ribbons of this tapestry with my bare hands,
If it meant I could see His face.
A glimpse, just a glimpse and, like Bonhoeffer, I’d crawl naked up to the gallows.
Come, Lord Jesus!
That's some get level crying out! I like how you point out that recognizing and acknowledging our suffering leads to a longing for Jesus to return
ReplyDeleteRobby
Thanks, buddy! They say depressed people write good poetry...
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