Hidden God, 10/27/2015, Deon Mumple
I’ve hidden my God as I’ve hidden myself,
Profanity, humanity, reversed, tucked away,
As God’s hidden me in cobwebs on His Shelf,
Because it doesn’t matter, whatever I say.
I sit in broken shit, wishing it wasn’t
What I need doesn’t matter, what I want doesn’t count,
Proof “hope deferred makes the heart sick,” doesn’t it?
Now I can only scream at darkness, cry, and doubt,
And although people care, they watch me, helpless,
While I die, slowly, as my faith is vivisected,
By unseen demons’ claws of murderous stress,
My requests for direction are misdirected.
I’ve hidden my God, He’s locked up my spirit,
If I said faithful things, what difference would it make?
I have read the promises, trust, wait for it,
But I’m tired, and a smile would be completely fake.
I look out of my cage and cheer other souls,
Feeling growing self-loathing, watching others succeed,
Bitter roots and bitter fruits assess their tolls,
While I strive to escape, reaching for what I need.
I’ve hidden myself, cursing my fallen soul,
Whether God intervenes or doesn’t on my behalf
Doesn’t really matter, nor my petty goals,
“He thought he believed,” may be my life’s epitaph.