Poetry

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© Bob Barra, 1-19-08

Jesus Lord; I’m depressed
And I don’t know why;
I put some words on paper to rest;
They left me with a sigh;
All I wanted: to show You off
And write about Your glory;
These words, to me, seem to scoff;
Fall short of telling the story;

I write and write, and write again;
Its joy is not denied;
Then these words seem like sin;
I feel like I have died;

Then I’m shown my frail heart,
My words, with me, in it;
How could they equal my God and Lord,
When He is so infinite?
I remember gifts given me
From friends, recalling their names;
Despite the size of gift given freely,
The joy from each is the same;

You are pleased with what I do,
For I am who You’ve made;
Depression flees from what is true;
Your love’s again my aid.

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