I don’t understand
why I can’t have
what I want.

I don’t understand 
how I want
what I don’t grab.

If I will to walk away 
while I’m longing to stay,
who am I to claim one name?

What happened to me? 
How can I 
even ask?

Haven’t I always 
this way-

“Life’s race 
didn’t cause 
me to break;

I just
stumbled up
to the starting gate”?

Am I no work of art 
but one little part 
of a whole?

Do I even 
at all?

Why am I so distinct
in my dance with the brink
if it causes me so much pain

(and the details fade away)?

‘Cuz something about this 
feels so superficial-
I’ve cued the gospel.

The psalms are repetitive!

And I 
keep on writing.
I keep, keep on writhing.

I’m never satisfied;
I only long to die.

If you’re the answer,
what don’t I understand? 
What aren’t I getting yet?

How’d my heart 
get so far
from my head?

Don’t I bear,
don’t I claim
one name?

My will is on fire;
My heart is a liar.
My mind is a brothel-

Oh, I need the gospel!

I need you
my King.

I need you,
my Savior 
and King.

13 thoughts on “Romans

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