Cities on Hills

I walk down the street
With some quiet conversation stored away in my pocket.
The moisture of the air is making clouds form
That will eventually wash this city of a days work.
And it makes me realize,
How glad I am that you don't wash your hands of me, oh Lord
For your fingerprints are found all over me.
Evidence that you are here,
Proof that there is more than what the eye can see.
I open my mouth but I have nothing to say.
I can't seem to justify anything anymore
And it all comes back to haunt me.
Squarely on my shoulders, we now see what we've known all along,
It is my fault.
These fresh cuts, and open scars that cry quietly,
Just want to heal in Your grace.
Away from the noises, from the dangers
Away from this city, from which patience is mixed with self defeat.
It is the recipe that is eating away at my open wounds.
The pain is intense, and it shocks me each time.
My arms are so heavy and I cannot lift them to protect myself
From this virus of the earth.
And though I can hear you calling out to me,
My body is so worn that I can't find the strength to do anything about it.
This type of struggle is like writers block,
I know what I need to do, even how
But I cant.. and it hits me harder than life.
For we are born with a sense of hunger to wander deeper into you.
Giving everything to you, we find all we will ever need.
How humbling it is and how mysterious your mind
When I stand in the wilderness staring at the deep dark sky
Pitch black without direction,
My eyes cast light to my feet
Lit by your wonder and word.
This is what I've waited for all my life.
I unpack my thoughts in my pocket
Speaking of the joys and sorrows of life with you.
Crying on your shoulder, leaning on your grace
And learning a little more about you.

Poem by J.A.D. © 2005