Poetry

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My version awkward is to go onward;
Though impostor straps bind, with false cares that confine;
Though spots stain my soul, in ways only confessions know;
My version awkward is to go onward.

My version awkward is to go further onward;
Though pressings tear time, denying plain the sublime;
Though damage be done, allowing failure to run;
My version awkward is to go further onward.

My version awkward is to go far further onward;
Though being on my own, in defeat I am sown;
Though think God has forsaken, in Him intend my end be taken;
My version awkward is to go far further onward.

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