Desperate people,

Desperate cries…

Drowning in the seas of their

Own sin.

Yet so unable to see

All they need do is let down their

Guard

And let You in…

There’s so many fruitless ways we try

To fix this broken world.

There’s new theories every day.

We fret and fume

All for the sake of elbow room

At the drawing table of our

Largely pointless planning,

Rarely glancing

To He whose hands are ever there,

Ever spanning

To cradle the whole

Of His creation,

To show us the error of our

Meandering days,

Heal the breaches of bleeding

Nations.

Like a parent seeking to soothe

Fevered brows of a tortured

Brood,

He is reaching out to us for our

Good.

If we would but stop fussing

And tussling

Long enough let Him!

Ah, but war-torn we are,

And, scripture says, war-torn we

Shall be…

To the very end.

Desperate…