Waging War and Dying Slow

There is a madness born of fear
A path unteathered to reason’s core
Finding myself is not what I thought
And the darkness wins again.

I can despair because I know hope
More than if I did not
Yet in this storm so tossed about
I feel both hope and rot.

But how could I ever learn to trust
(Freely and on my own)
If I were not in frightening places
Let’s see how I have grown…

Tonight I dream despite…

“What is the purpose of my life?”
Do I die mired in sin?
Do I make a difference?
The sun sets a cool and pleasant night.

The storm,
Am I saved from it?
Or is that where I am thrown
To feel the breath of God?

Discordant heart
Failed attempts
What is my purpose?
In this dusty hot and empty place…

“It is finished.”

I would like to learn to pray.

I fear the devil knows my heart
For men are not unique as such
And think we oft the only ones
To think or feel or cry this way…

But this is not how we’re alone.

Near to God is what I seek
But fear confounds my every step
And I stumble as though drunk
And cannot find the way…

But God has spoken.