We are empty...
Our hearts beat toward death from the start,
we feel the gaping nothingness at the moment of birth
and cry out.
A good life or bad, we begin to try and fill the breach
with deeds, service and accomplishment,
or the lust of the flesh, eyes, and pride.
But the hole won’t be filled;
the more we put in, the bigger it gets.
Pain, with want, reverberates in the cavern;
A sinkhole where our dreams perish.
We quit and choose death, or press on, living dead.
Nothing is all, and all is nothing,
useless vanity, pointless, fruitless work to death.
The hollow was meant for the One
Who “made himself nothing, taking
The very nature of a servant…’
He fills the aching nothingness with
His blood bought Something!
The hollow becomes a home for Him;
a fruitful womb where dreams are born,
where we want Nothing but to be His dwelling, His love child.
We are full.
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