To the Lost City

I was made in His image,

That sure makes me feel some kind of way.

As a mirror reflection,

I want to, by His heart, forever stay.

As a shadow in the evening,

I don't feel that beautiful, do you?

As a mime mimics, so must I,

I gain my value from my Maker, it's true.

As incense rises,

He makes me new when I ask?

Though He says it's worth it,

It seems quite a frightful task.

As I peer into the nighttime,

There is regret sewed into my soul.

While I had been fast asleep,

many others had taken a long sad toll.

He chose His vessels wisely,

steering them down long valley ways.

For His arrows took genteel delight,

as He used them to lift up praise.

Filling the broken cracks of pottery,

with gold of the Spirit's ebbing flow.

Forgive me for running away from You,

to the lost city, I will now go.