The Truth Is…


The truth is

I never feel worthy

Actually I feel very worthy,


Worthy of punishment



And hardship

Thus I don’t complain when I go through


Because it’s the one time

I feel God is being fair

Not just

Because I deserve worse

Collecting my thoughts like change


Taking inventory


My body a house in which sin is abundant

The memories of which I collect

Consider me a hoarder

And the Spirit a cleaning service

Removing the filth collected from

The life of one out of control,

And computing I find my balance in the red

Totaled out by a hand,


Marked with the ink in a fountain pen

Filled with blood monogrammed with the name oh Yahweh

I walk around in a life that doesn’t belong to me

Abusing merchandise

I don’t own

Wearing it

Hoping to have enough time

To clean it up

Before the owner calls for it to be returned

Using His Word to stitch together what I have torn

Dipping in the blood daily to scrub out the spot I created in my disobedience,

Applying his love like a mighty balm

To heal my souls’ mind that have the wear and tear of my ignorance

See, the truth is

I wouldn’t choose myself in a Spiritual beauty pagent

But the talent portion of the show revealed a gift

A bidding war began

And the auction price was driven to the max

And I was purchased,


And though I am worth nothing

The set price on my life is everything

The truth is,

The value of an item is set by the one who desires to own it,


Not by the item,

And that is what the truth is.


Spiritual Sunglasses ’11


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