Shabby

Looking for a flash

Expecting a spark

Giant billboards overhead

My name in glares

Giant hand fluttering

Come this way, my son,

I don’t know for what I’m awaiting

What I’ve been anticipating

For what I’ve been staying

Oh I’m scrambled

Hands down they dangle

Bursting into tears

Feeling least in coming to senses

Awkward paths staggered defenses,

God, I’m a mess

God, I confess

I’m a little bit tired

But I haven’t done anything

I haven’t worked hard enough

My existence isn’t so tough

But I feel scrambled

Yet my life, ambled

Compared to others

/

My perfect box

Scrambled brains and rocks

Lightly soiled socks

To show for forty years

Don’t ask what I’m expecting

Guess I’ve excelled in second-guessing

Shrug at deep unfathomable blessings

Looking at thee

God, I need better than me

Please show my your ways

Demonstrate prayer’s mysterious arrays

Your Light shining through this vessel.

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