Barren is this troubled heart unable even the first word to start.Gulping sandy breaths, flesh tattered and torn on hands an needs I’m born.
Bedraggled and bewitched by unreal images and fits, pausing before you to sit.
Purple ringed eyes, heavy chested sighs, into my heart an angelic presence grinds.
Still unspoken, tired and bruised, unworthy, this life I offer for you to use.
Prostrate, humbled for all too see, what is it you need from me?
Taken in hours pulled from aired sands, all hopes faith, from this mortal man.
Empty and shapeless, mold me today, make the man you need I pray.
Warm hands grasping these chilled worn fingers, looking into my eyes, your heart lingers.
Filling with hope, the very breath of faith you return, though do not any of this deserve.
Shaky at first, now alongside you I stand, surrendered to you will praising this prince not man.
Mortal, though Godly, healing then for sins a man hurting, arisen, I celebrate you in this land.
Never alone, here or as I roam, this humbled heart of a man held in the cleft of your hand.
I thank you, oh, and Amen.