The Rebel
When we close our eyes,
There's no way that we can see
The runneraway or rebel in you and me.
What is it in you and me that
Has the capacity to oppose that
Which is so obviously good for us?
That which dispose the means of grace?
That which opposes our greatest supporters?
That which dismisses and resists comon sense?
That which persists toward the gates of hell?
What is it in us, I ask, that compells us to rebel,
Rendering us to binding chains in jail cells?
What is it in us that compells us to go to places
We do not want to go inspite of what we know;
To do and say that which we really do not want
to do and say; to stray into dens we have to stay?
We clearly understand 'Amazing Grace',
But that is not what we are craving.
Why have we become a conduit for selfishness?
Why are you and I averse to that which we were once emerged and find no pleasure in any way
Or measure?
There is 'another something' in us that wants
To take a stand and rise up against our tormentor,
But the coward in us allows him to be our mentor.
Can the rebel in us be reversed
And find a way out of this dreadful, desert place?
What? Why? When? Who? Where? How?
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