Lord I try to write
And make the perfect rhymes.
I think of what life is
And all I do is come up empty handed.
Im tired of writing empty words
I’m tired of wanting my own thoughts to
Be whats heard
Because what are they worth? A penny at best.
What are my words worth on the bestselling list?
A hint of fortune, a flicker of fame.
What else can I write
Its all been written
What else can I say?
It will just be forgotten.
Sometimes I feel like you put something on my heart
Then ill put it to ink,
But it doesn’t leave a mark.
I have waited years
To hear from your voice
I have hungerd for words
But then hunger became a curse
When my words became more
Than you who spoke
When did i begin to think
That it was me who wrote?
The things that are beautiful, that pierces one’s heart.
Every line written, every work of art.
Each flower that bloomed from Creation till now, every creature that breathes, from the birds to the cows.
It all points to you. It all gives You praise
What gives me right to think I shouldn’t do the same?
My words are meaningless. They’ll burn up like grass.
Each letter is a memory. Soon it will all pass.
My thoughts will become nothing, Articfacts of old. My tales of splendor now, will never be retold.
The only thing thats left, This one thing remains. The only thing worth saving, (if we are capable to save).
The only thing that stands in my ever moving mind, is the words you have spoken Lord, they have stood through time.
My life is nothing special, but special you are to me.
I hope my simple words praise you. I hope they show you as my King.
I hope they give a glimpse, of what I have down inside.
I hope they show my struggle, how sometimes I want to hide.
I want them to be convicting, mainly to my heart. I want you to speak between the lines. I want you to place each mark.
In the end I know, this one thing I have seen,
All that my life is worth, is only what you’re worth to me.