The Bitter Sinner

I’m too constricted by the flesh to hear your call. I’m too restricted by my world to hear you God at all. I’m stuck in this. My world is so small and I try to build myself up so tall. Man, it feels so good.

Pitch black is what I'm seein as my vision decays. I’m walking astray every day. Lingering around everywhere, trying not to steer your way. I can’t even see you there. There’s forces that I’m becoming aware of, that are pushing me down into damnation and I’m struggling to pull my own self above, out of this dastardly cantation.

Can someone please throw me a rope? Or a ladder? I mean, come on. Throw me something. Stop my tumbling. My virtues are crumbling. I feel myself mumbling cause I feel like sometimes, sometimes in the midst of confessing my own crimes I’m talking openly to nobody.

I keep tellin the masses  “Life has no free passes. Man, I’m struggling.” But all the while I’m smothering my own self, practicing my gluttony behind hidden doors. And what’s sad is that in this temple of the tried and simple you keep sending your love for me up through the floor boards of my shattered soul. You’re trying desperately for me to be made whole.

 Nobody is hearing my sins. And nobody takes the time to find and fix the hands of the perverted men. The broken. The lost. Those in a rut. The sinner. The corrupt. I keep taking communion but I’m never filling my Graces cup. Truly, if you look at me you’d say, “Wow, that’s guys filthy stuck.

Does God see me not practicing my piety right now? Or is he busy asking how? “How did this guy get so low when I just wanted to see him grow?  I continue though to reap what I sow.

I’m so bruised and kind of confused. Who was it that’s supposed to be coming for me and to save me? Please come down and remain with me. I don’t seem so sane anymore. My motives and purity are left sagging on the floor. I can’t carry my burdens any more. Man, clinicly I don’t know what it is I’m here for.

I’m alive but not well. I’m here but it’s as if I’ve fallin off the map. I’ve come undone from your gracious grip, and Lord… this nobody just wants to quit. It’s really difficult to be something more than a sinner.

My demons have me in firm grips. Pull me out of this situation. Send me a spirit that can guide me and use this corpse for plantation. Plant me unto good soil. My pain and toil weren’t made with your purpose to spoil. Make me new that I can see clearly and only steer towards you. Be my all in all cause if I try to stop sinning alone I’m going to fall.

Focus my eyes to your words and your truths. Focus me only, souly to you. To that old, rugged cross. Life and the choices we make are worth more than a simple coin toss. I consider this life all but lost. Help me, a sinner.

2/8/11