Given
Here, but for the grace of God
Tormented within my vessel,
To walk on burning coal,
To hear the cries of my hungry spirit,
To eat from an empty bowl.
To journey on without hope,
I stagger around and not through,
Given mouth, teeth and tongue,
Yet no bone to chew.
Given wisdom to make change,
Strength to see it done,
Slow is the pace I run this race-
Given bullets, but no gun.
I have knees that stay bent,
I have hands that stay in a clasp,
Words I’ve been given to say,
Their meaning I have yet to grasp.
Where is this valley,
This shadow of death,
This life I must get through
Before I can be given breath?
What deed to fortune must I take?
What many words must I spew?
What more torture to withstand,
To be given a seat in the pew?
Given the Shroud of Turin,
my symbolic flag of relenting
To lift my head towards the heavens-
And to begin, my repenting
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
