My Own Psalm
Who are you, Father?
I am now only beginning to see
What wrong my mind has done
To your sacred image.
The dark distance
I place between myself and you
Serves as a testimony
To how little I know you.
How much am I to blame, Abba,
For the mutilation
Of my own thoughts?
I did not choose
To come to exist in such a state
Where, at times, I resent my own life—
Seeing an ugly whore instead of a virgin maid.
Oh my God,
Why am I incapable of tearing myself
Away from the sin that I cling to
Because I do not have enough faith in you?
My head—
This logical machine on my shoulders—
Deeply knows that I cannot change
Unless I trust in you, Father.
Yet the memory of ten year-old me
Will not raise her hands in pure distress to you
In hopes that you will answer her cry
For the bleeding soul in her tortured body.
To face silence,
To face silence again, Father—
I cannot do it.
Will you hear and answer
Your beloved this time:
Shake the foundations
Of my reality until it is yours?
Abba,
Do not leave me alone—
Allowing me to shut my tears up inside my eyes
Like the sacrificial offering I deny you,
My weakness.
My exalted maker,
Give your creation another reason to praise you
And heal me of the black, oozing monsters
That cover up your truth.
From simple dust you made man:
Take the cumbersome rock of my heart
And transform it into a jewel of light
That echoes your glory.
My Father,
King of all the Universe
I am but a feeble human
Compared to your overwhelming power,
And so I beg you—
With all earnestness—
To alleviate me of the heavy burden
That such a pitiful existence as mine
Can no longer bear.
Show me who you are,
Show me your lucid love.
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