Post by remypoe on Mar 9, 2006 15:51:41 GMT -5
Tear stained pages of my soul's story of sorrow,
longing for the mercy of a grace-filled tomorrow.
Heart of fragments in drops of salty remorse,
flooding the ground of such an agonizing course.
Sadness stokes the fire, behind my mask of anger,
failure to show grief brings me closer to danger.
Hide from the darkness of pride's sin-filled shame,
in the false empowering emotions of this game.
Deal out the pain, that I choose not to face,
guilt of the consequence, trying to outrun disgrace.
How can I flee from that which is within,
the fleshly wickedness in every pore of my skin?
My soul is captive to the incarceration of pride,
sentenced to solitary confinement with no one to confide.
Calloused and hard like the steel of these bars,
the only tenderness left is found in the scars.
Broken, lost, the isolation of mistaken choice,
alone in this misery, comes the cry of my own voice.
Echoing repentence from the anguish of my sin,
the mercy of my Lord, restores to me, life yet again.
In the grip of gratitude, I know not what to say,
through the pardon of blood, free to live another day.
Turn the corner of wrong onto the avenue of right,
out of the blackness that lies, into the truth of the Light.
longing for the mercy of a grace-filled tomorrow.
Heart of fragments in drops of salty remorse,
flooding the ground of such an agonizing course.
Sadness stokes the fire, behind my mask of anger,
failure to show grief brings me closer to danger.
Hide from the darkness of pride's sin-filled shame,
in the false empowering emotions of this game.
Deal out the pain, that I choose not to face,
guilt of the consequence, trying to outrun disgrace.
How can I flee from that which is within,
the fleshly wickedness in every pore of my skin?
My soul is captive to the incarceration of pride,
sentenced to solitary confinement with no one to confide.
Calloused and hard like the steel of these bars,
the only tenderness left is found in the scars.
Broken, lost, the isolation of mistaken choice,
alone in this misery, comes the cry of my own voice.
Echoing repentence from the anguish of my sin,
the mercy of my Lord, restores to me, life yet again.
In the grip of gratitude, I know not what to say,
through the pardon of blood, free to live another day.
Turn the corner of wrong onto the avenue of right,
out of the blackness that lies, into the truth of the Light.
