Poetry

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Its nine fifty-five and I’m ready to go
my bible in hand with my prayers set for show,
Sunday service parade, my act start’s to shine
mask firmly in place, there’s no room to refine.

Its eight fifteen and a new work day begins
selfish and lazy, yet determined for wins,
character changing, it seems just on a whim
so busy impressing, that I forget Him.

Its five forty-five and I’m grumpy and tired
frustration is building, scared that I will get fired,
entering home with a soul that is empty
breathing in anger, with “self” there to tempt me.

Its eight twenty-two and I start to party
broken deep inside, I act like a smarty
hiding my shame, pretending all things are good
hurt and confused by why I’m misunderstood.

Its eleven thirty my guard now is down
darkness outside reflected, in what I crown,
shadows of compromise come calling at night
the Father’s perfect peace is lost from my sight.

Its six twenty-six, I don’t want to get up
depressions curse sings, “nothing left in my cup”
weighed down by worry; I’m dying by degree
unsure in this moment no hope do I see...

Its twelve noon and the sky above becomes dark
beaten and wounded, Jesus love leaves its mark,
grace clearly spoken as He hangs on the tree
healed by His stripes, my life renewed and set free.

Its six in the morning we rush to the tomb
to honour His body with our sweet perfume,
greeted by blessing, He has risen today
giving life for all time, true hope on display.

It’s time to stop looking at what is the time
disguising my feelings in my pretty rhyme
living in grace and through His mighty power
time for my surrender no matter the hour!

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