Lost

Like many others authors, I have tried my hand at poetry from time to time. And like most writers, I write mediocre poetry. And since it will never see the light of day otherwise, I can at least put it on my blog!

I forgot about this one until I found it hidden among some other papers today. I wrote this in the year following my sister's passing.
 

Lost

I am seeking,

I am searching, 

I am stumbling,

I am lost.

I thought I knew

where I was going

and I did not

mind the cost.

But, to my disappointment,

my faith was built on sand.

A strong wind blew 

and knocked me over;

I fell and dropped Your hand.

Now I struggle through the twilight

of doubt and of fear.

I search to see Your purpose,

Your voice I try to hear. 

I think of those who went before me,

whose tales are well known.

I walk their well-worn footsteps

and now their stories are my own.

I am the beggar

who is begging,

I, the blind man

who cannot see.

I am Lazarus

in the grave

waiting for You

to set me free.

I am the deer

yearning for the stream

so thirsty, almost fainting.

I am the watchman

on the tower

in hopeful darkness waiting.

I am Mary  at the tomb

longing for Your face.

I am the children

who hear Your voice

and want to run

to Your embrace.

I am the woman 

who has sinned

and now falls at Your feet.

I am the parent 

whose child is ill

and seeks Your healing

in the street.

I am dry,

I am broken,

so weak

I cannot move.

I am frail,

I am empty,

my tears 

my only food.

This dark night of the soul,

I know it cannot last

Though I may never understand

why these things have come to pass.

Every day is a struggle

to stand on solid ground,

to hold on in spite of

a faith turned upside-down.

I have made a choice

and on this I stake my faith,

Though I no longer hear Your voice,

Though I cannot see Your face.

To love in spite of loss,

to keep going, though I can't move 

And to hold with all my might

to a Savior I can't prove. 

I will sing the song of faith

with my voice, wan and weak.

A song so full of grace

with music pure and sweet.

Using lyrics that are true

for Your strength is in the weak.

I believe with all I can.

Now Lord, help my unbelief!

copyright C Alcott 2006