Sunday Offering

I am not dressed

in my Sunday best

but I stand before you

torn to shreds and

I bring no offerings

of fragrant chaplets

but the stench of my sins.

I exalt you , as always,

but my shouts are feeble

and I play on a guitar

with a broken string

hoping  my broken hallelujahs

you will not spurn

and you won’t just stand there

and watch me burn.

Calm this storm within me now

do not ask me why and how

All that I show them and

that none will ever see

accept my offering , Lord,

accept all of me.

— that mishmash

 

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14 thoughts on “Sunday Offering

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