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| Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 01-June 12:49:33 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 139820
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => I'll stop apologizing
[time] => 2008-01-15 12:34:29
[hometext] => continued from
[bodytext] => I know plenty about godly sorrow and remorse But I know less about repentance. Some people can carry their heart on their sleeve But I think my wrists are only dripping with my guilt Red like the blood of your son. I guess I keep on killing him for fun. I know you expect me to stand for something And I'd stand for something if I could even stand But as it stands, all I'm good at doing is falling on my knees And begging for a helping hand. And if your hand comes by, I casually brush it aside Because to kiss that hand is to die And I'm just too ill equipped to not try and stay alive But I don't blame that on you. I could never blame my inadequacies on you. I wouldn't even dare to try. 'Cause there's more than meets the eye with you and I. I don't even know where to begin, so I guess I'll let you tell the story. I guess all I can do is sit down and listen, my stuttering mouth and my fumbling tongue, It's not even comparable to your lilting prose and your imaginative words My tattered pages of scribbles are just what they are before your wonderful works I am nothing before you, and I understand this, know this beyond a shadow of a doubt And yet I'm still far too foolish to accept it. Is there any hope for me? Is there any hope in Heaven at all? I think you took my diamond heart and put a cheap beating facsimile in it's place. And I think I'm thankful for your mercy and your grace. If only I could talk to you face to face. But I guess that's what I'm doing anyway. I'd like to think that I can't see the trees for the leaves, While I'm busy eating up the apples that were offered to me. Stealing fruits from the garden, like the fox, spoiling the wine Gnawing at the grafted vine, when I've got so much growing yet to do. I can only pray. Pray that you'd tend to me anyway. Beg for some water, and try and produce some fruit to feed the fox, And hope to have some grapes left for Sunday. Oh, I promise you I'll try. I'll try until I die And can only hope you'll be surprised by the yield I bring. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 422 [topic] => 50 [informant] => Yodo [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ApologyPoetry )
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