Help me fast, LORD!
I seek to understand the ways of the magnificent,
Yet those I entrust with my choices seek to defy my own involvement!
I set up a camp in the shelter of an Elm Tree.
Who are those who wish to pity me further?
Why do I stamp out petulance yet I am rewarded with antipathy?
How does a man make his way in a world where there are knives at his very ware?
I send my own tepid senses to the extreme winds.
How does it go that a man must acclaim his own foot for his own ineptitude?
Save me from the footman who seeks to starve the neophytes work waiver.
If there is a hole in the mind of the precise, where does it open into the river of hope?
No comments:
Post a Comment