This Is It, This Is Me

It always seems like the best poetry comes when I'm broken
Rather than when I'm clean.
You see I'm sick & dirty;
Wait, that's right-
I never let you see.
Behind those screens I hide,
My Master isn't the one I cry to-
Instead I'm lead by you-my enemy.
Your appraisal, your time.
Nothing fits me better than these crimes....
So I think.
I think about what I've done
& how God sent His only son.
But I'm a mess of a man;
Why did You, O God, have to come?
I'll never understand.
God picks me up & seats me at the table.
My old dirty rags are traded for something more stable.
He cried out, "Son, you're home at last."
Funny how all this time I spent thinking the opposite.
Funny how all this time I wasted thinking He was the worst of it.
You don't take away my fun,
You don't take away my talent.
You crown me with love
And you give me a palace.
I don't understand,
I don't get it-
How God's only son died & rose again.
For me, for me He says.
But what have I done other than rattle this old gun?
What have I done but destroy all that matters?
You see, what I thought was peace really lead me behind bars.
What I thought was security really left me broken & weak.
But God doesn't call me a failure.
In His Son I am more than a conquerer.
I am free at last, free at last-
Thank God Almighty we can be free at last!
Don't let me live that way again, Father.
Turn my gaze & my heart to what never falters.
You hold the whole world in your hands,
That includes all of my disasters.