I languish in a prison cell, not wrought with iron bars,
But one of my own making and one built by my scars.
I call but no one answers, I cry but hearken not
The things I wish that I could hear, the things that I have sought.
Lies have I been told, and all my life believed,
That others truly care is now obscenity to me.
Realize you how trite they ring, the words you have supplied?
Though meant for help, a reverse effect have they all applied.
Wandering, Waiting, working still, I toil and move on;
Though I sow and tend the field, harvest yet I have not drawn.
Others always seem to reap, despite their lack of toil;
If life is like the fertile ground, then mine is rocky soil.
But in my anguish and despair, I hear the voice of one
Vibrant in the dreary air, bringing peace unto His son.
If contentment’s what You ask of me, then I will bide and wait
Placing trust in You alone, not some illusive fate.
Lonely have I ever been, and in desperation called,
But You reached out Your hand to me, and to You I am drawn.
Awaiting now Your timing, I soak myself in You,
Desperate no longer, save for my time with You.
