Accept Me

Gandering at the grandeur of the morning mist,

yes, it lifts so free, with jubilee.

I think on the shades of sanded mystery,

and I remember all the roots of pain,

the agony, as the roots, they feel as heavy as iron.

I just long to disappear;

they remind me of all my mistakes;

even some of the vibrant flowers agree,

because they shake their heads,

apparently, for most to see.

I ask Jesus, with salty prayers,

“Why do I give and give so much,

and none of it seems enough, not even a lick, or even a touch?”

He replies, with a gentle smile and sigh and says,

“I gave all my blood I had to spill,

and still,

to this day,

most refuse to accept me…”