Poetry

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Here I am, my spiritual state,
I'm about to explode;
Is this my deserved fate?
My heart's own motherlode?

I look for You, for my relief,
But there's none for me;
A pressures felt, from within,
Won't You set me free?

I am pressed to resign,
I have nothing left;
My insides feel so maligned,
Of joy, I am bereft!

But I find Your hand,
Is what's crushing me;
Not to remove me from my stand,
But to set me on Your lee.

I've become as an olive,
Full of oil to free;
But in the plump, I do not live,
Until He crushes me!

My part, is not to move,
As You press on me;
I must stay in Your groove,
And worship needfully.

As You crush, I'm struck within,
My song of You returns to me;
As I praise despite the din,
Your joy returns to me.

I find in me, words for others,
To bless their needful hearts;
I exhort, speak to their flame,
How Your love ne'er parts.

With the crush, I see my Christ,
The source of my pressure;
I feel Your power crush the ice,
You remain my measure.

Thank You, Lord, for the truth,
You are e'er here with me;
Even as I do not feel the proof,
I am rising to Your glee.

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