3Tug of War
Everything I say comes out like I'm writing an apology and
all the words jumble at my tongue
I touch the twisted blade, the trident who feels condemned.
Somehow it comforts the sadness
that's bubbling over my conciousness.
A malicious voice tells me:
I'll fail everyone; they hope for so much
I'm not strong enough.
Then there is a call for victory,
resounding a triumphant symphony.
Rich in everlasting love and compassion,
It rebukes the sinister voices coaxing me into comas.
The apologies are no more,
It is not punishment that calls for my suffering.
I will trust in God and the plan
He made for me shall prevail.
God will watch over me, arms across my back, He'll help me ascend.
I will humbly listen, reposed in his palm.