Day after day, I rivel.
Who knows for how long?
Reduced to mere survival
screaming it’s selfish undertone.
Aspiration is long forgotten
If I live, to what avail?
Despair darkens my demeanor
Time and time again, I fail.
Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?
Compassion is now contended;
Making less sense than it did before
And those who are offended
break the hinges off my door.
Disappointment - my adornment -
as if I’m capable of more.
If only they knew the torment
that is relentless at my core.
Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?
Wisdom - she only mocks me.
She dances around my doom
singing, “Here lies a foolish boy
who followed freedom to his tomb.”
Now I’m cast to raging seas;
A boat beaten by a angry wave;
curdled cries like pleas
from crows that cry above my grave.
Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?
Ah, Lord, You know.
But I am left to wonder why
every attempt to be the hero
turns to ashes when I die.
All this foolishness will follow
as I lay down and return to dust
and time is sure to swallow
all these fallacies I trust.
Tell me, Lord.. can these dry bones live?