He sat comfortably at the place of God
who was too polite to stay
where He was not desired,
too dignified to squat in His own house
after my unwritten notice of eviction.
Now I talk to myself,
words bouncing round the empty room,
a discoloured polaroid letting me know
what the joy of His salvation looked like.
How do I dismantle this idol of my own making -
one of flesh and bone, that I can see and touch -
and start believing again
that God is not too proud to return?
2 comments:
I wish I knew what you meant by this poem...if you need to talk...I'm just an e-mail away!
I have something for you here...
http://alumpofclayinafrica.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-very-first-blog-award_31.html
Love you!
I wish I understood too but I echo the 'idol of my own making'line.
How hard it is sometimes to forgive myself. It seems my sense of justice is more stringent than God's thus I find the idol is myself.
Have mercy on me Lord.....create in me a clean heart...and renew a steadfast spirit within me...these bones ou have broken may they have a song again....then will I show sinners your way....and speak Of Jerusalem's peace
Post a Comment