Your love fills up the heavens
It falls upon the earth,
But in the house I live in
All that I know is dirt.
My hands are darkly blackened
My fingers claw for light,
And in this muck I’m planted
Your love seems out of sight.
Perhaps I’ve built a shelter
Of darkness for my sin.
Perhaps I’ve shunned the helper
Who wants to come within.
When ever will you break through
My dingy shelter’s walls,
Washing off the residue
Of ugly sinful scrawls?
Will bloody hands be lowered
To lift me from this hole?
Will loving words be showered
To cleanse and make me whole?
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