Poetry

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Oh my God, I'm so poor.
I have nothing I could give.
Just as worthy as a whore.
I've no right to live.
But You're there, and You've shown
   my cavernous heart of sin.
Just as true, just as glowing,
   You desire to come in.
"Come in here." I barely pray it.
I feel You then in here.
I am taught by Your Spirit.
I have come with heart and ear.
 
I tell another what I've done.
I know they're hearing me.
I tell them about the Son
  and how He set me free.
 
He then says how he's poor,
   not worthy, even to give.
He confesses, and what's more,
  he feels he cannot live.
"But you're here, and you've told
   about your heart of sin.
Just as true, from of old,
  Jesus will come in."
 
So I led, "Come in here."
Then I heard him pray it.
It seemed gone, his face of fear.
I believed he has the Spirit.
 
How is it, that this could be?
The Lord would be so dear.
All I have, as I could see,
   was a heart and ear.
 
© 10-16-2010
 
Note: This was inspired by the beatitudes. I thought about how realizing how poor one is through the Gospel one is then empty and then usable for the Lord.

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