Lacking

I lack slack and hold myself back
Like a zombie stumbling and bumbling
At least I am not mumbling

Without vision I coast through life
Nothing to reach for for I do not see
No future for me

Like refuse on the riverbank
sometimes flowing sometimes stuck
covered in the muck

the plasmist says to lift our eyes
In my rebellion I keep them downcast
dwelling on the past

His word is like the surgeons knife
My selfpity and conciete are a cancer
Christ is the answer.

I seek with my eyes closed
Not wanting to see the real me
Being unworthy

The changing of my heart will start
Because of His astounding and unbounding grace
Our father sees his sons face

He looks down on me and numbers the hairs on my head
because in shame I hang my head
for what he did i my stead

Grace and Peace, Mark