Tuesday, December 23, 2008

My feet feel like stone.
I can feel every bone
'cuz the weight of the world's
on my head.

My pen's filled with dust.
My brain's turned to rust.
My prospects and pride
have both fled.

I am trying to pray.
Let the Lord have His say.
I am trying to learn
the right lessons.

To show I am ready
faithful, calm, sure and steady
serenity and
acquiescence.

5 comments:

Art and Poetry said...

nice one!!

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

Thanks!

ish said...

Is there a sort of pride that should "flee"? I identify with much of this.

Dymphna (4HisChurch) said...

I think its necessary, sometimes, for pride to "flee". When we feel the rug is being pulled out from under us, pride has to go away, and that is a good thing.

Agnes Regina said...

What a great poem. I love the rhyme of verses three and four; it's hard to find that kind of rhyme but that one's perfect. Would we could all do what you say here.

Poems © Gemma W. Wilson