In vain we strive,
our way to find.
Through clouded mind,
our place in time.
Empty, hollow,
short of breath.
Lost, alone,
a walking death.
We’re on all fours,
our pity soars.
Self-absorbed,
a slamming door.
So we cry foul,
but silence rings.
A wrenched soul,
emptiness brings.
Lost, alone,
nowhere to run.
Sick at heart,
darkened sun.
The battle lost,
when waged alone.
For we are but,
a tiny stone.
But, on the Rock,
we’re lifted up.
Recieve His breath,
taste of His cup.
The moral grasped,
the lessoned honed.
Without His strength,
we strive alone!
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Definitely want His strength. Thank you, Mike.
Thank you. I’m really enjoying this opportunity to write again.
With him – everything. Without him – nothing.
Good poem.
Thanks, Glen.