| View Blog
|
|
|
you hold me through the darkest places
and through the aphotic whispers of a prideful soul
as your humble servant shamefully turns the other way
but still you refuse to break the flesh
breathing through my prideful anxiety
and then gently replacing that which I try to mend
through the silence, a fighting is heard
that you break with your gentle weeping
and even though I never listen
you always bring me back to you
I panic, rambelling, tripping over my feet
fighting cliche and the boundaries we put on religion
looking for a way to make you love me
trying to figure out where it is you fit
my God, my crutch, you'll be the box to bail me out
until I can figure out how to make this relational
my love, my open sky, you're with me when I'm weak
our love is becoming more irrational
but also more complete
In a growth that could never die
May 24, 2007 |
|
Posted by manhattonproject on 2008-01-22 00:58:08 | Rating: | Views: 44
|
| |
|
|
