Why do I make my bed in Sheol?
Where the fiery furnace burns brightly
Not one of refinement, no
Not one to emerge from as pure gold
This furnace draws me in like a seductress
One slip and she's grabbed your hand
I choose her way, without considering
the cost is no more than a receipt thrown away
in a moment, one justifies wickedness
not revering the One who had to die
my hands are stained, but alas
I am being made new
He holds my hands; he wrings my rags
how can I be brand new?
Placing white on me, like I am pure...
the battle is no longer accepting His death as true
or believing that He is who he says he is.
My battle remains within; twisting and turning with personal acceptance
how can He desire this?
This pile of chaos,
self-loathing hedonist;
sinking in my cowardice...
heavily, I lay before you.
My sin not in part
every crumb removed from the floor
you wash my feet; and you carry me
who am I to be called to enjoy you?
to behold your face; to dwell within your courts,
restore my joy that I once had in You
set ablaze this fragile cavity
with a burning passion to live for you
impart an unending courage to remain faithful
and wisdom to know my hunger will never subside
without you to be my portion, forever.
Dierdre
