The path that we are on

It can be said that the sharpness of swords

Are only sharpened for bitter ends and the wishes of hungry lords

That armor is formed for the pierce of arrows deep

In the earnest chasms of our heroes keep

That all the jewels are etched from stone

To fill a pocket or pay a loan

This skin I now find myself in;

is the only thing inherently mine.

The folly of man has reveled in shame

To a pursuit of power as if it were tame

That playing with matches and wielding a flame;

Could blot out the breakers of our synthetic little game

When will we find that our path is wrong;

That the fruit of our labor has been to long

The road I now find myself on;

Leads to nowhere.

Now that I have nothing to call my own

And I have been spared the blindness of the path I’m shown

What shall I do?

It is not enough to seek my way

In the bitter drops of the early day

To find a home in remote towns

Where people scurry and sadness drowns

Though this certainly sounds

It will not fulfill.

It is now clear that we are running away

From coldest freedom of our hearts dismay

That through our rummage and plow for meaning

Our pursuit of strength looks a lot like leaning

We cannot find eternal hope in fleeting things

We find our hope, our joy, our life, in Christ.


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