Words flow from my pen like the blood in my veins.
Each letter screaming out the Truth that God reigns,
Who masterfully crafted each synapse in my brain,
Though all outside observers diagnose me as insane.
But I’ve a desire to see my I’s become We’s.
Every image of God to catch this disease
To do God’s work rather than doing as we please,
Or perhaps pleased to do His work on our knees.
Outraged by injustice done by our broken decrees,
Though we are all broken, so each day let us seize,
For fixing what’s broken will not be done with ease.
I swear, every night, I hear my Father talk:
“Silas, my servant, pick up your mat and walk.”