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Existence on earth. But on a teethering edge.

Fear for self of the unknown, of possibilities.

Sin and guilt at every corner. Plaguing the soul.

I stand self-accussed. I am lowly. Self-serving.

Over affairs of mundane do I condemn my wretched heart.

Torment. Like a sea engulfing the shore.

An uneasy silence. In the eye of the storm.

Bounded and pained by my fallen state.

Justify my fallen self that the choice is right?

What is fair? and what is just?

Let freedom reign, so that men may see their foolish and self-righteous hearts and return to God, bowed and humbled.

The reason of men versus the perfection of Christ. I find myself wanting. Forgive me.


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