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Feeling like my life's bankrupt
And the collector's wanting more;
I'm in a freefall I can't stop,
I'm losing an ancient war.
Drinking from an empty cup,
But the cup is drinking me;
Feeling like my life's used up;
An emptiness I can see.
Battles within and without
Have left me worn and dry;
My tongue clings in my mouth
And my voice fails to cry.
"Blessed are the poor," I once heard;
I know no other poverty
Than the one, my soul's dirge;
Who could ever look on me?
But look on me, yes, You will,
And I bring to You my cup;
Then I am saved while being still;
I'm on Your way up.
Now this cup, it overflows,
And others are hit with its spill;
Your love in me, yes, it shows;
All I need do is be still.
Drinking from a spilling cup,
While You're pouring more;
Use me, Lord, 'til I'm used up,
You'll find me at Your door.
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Drinking from a spilling cup. and others catch the fallout. Loved this poem.