naked and dust
I looked about and the perfect image of a man is presented yet behind that mask is pride in its sin the one with the finger that all receive pointing back at me in my dust … tear stained face … mud falling on my knees death is in that finger that points at me as i feel like a lost soul worthy of nothing more muddy bath forming about my knees much sorrow for my walk is but a disgrace to Him who is Holy and Just in His ways eyes looking out of the mud but a finger is all I see … death is my friend upon bent knees of a hypocrite face down mud running forth a hand reaches out a hand that is nail scarred a hand that saves a hand that points not at me but in loving offer to pick me up out of my mud a gentle wind blows as i wonder why me me of all upon these knees wondering why no death In much sorrow much shame i lift my heart to that hand in much sorr