Poetry

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When things seem bleak, the past shows up to haunt
Behind you history will sneak, without shame it will flaunt
As an unwelcome creak, though sometimes silently it will taunt
You want to tell your clique, instead you put up a front
They might think you’re weak, and begin to daunt

In the mirror is the face of obscurity, but only you can see it
You taste and smell mediocrity, but no one else can sense it
Evidently you have no security, but only you recognize it
Without a doubt devoid of surety, but no one else knows it
Everyone admires your maturity, but is it a miss or a hit?

For how long will you defer? The Savior waits with compassion
He has something better, to give you a new passion
What would you prefer, adventure or a life of dispassion?
He wants you to be a pacesetter, someone with a mission
A new title to you He’ll confer, and give you a vision

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