I am broken, mere fragments of the innocence once bestowed. . .
Ghost in a room of Pharisee-like convention
Quiet observer of the holiness I cannot ever
Hope to obtain
For my clothes are not like yours, and while my
Heart, is open
For me there is no room.
Mere fragments of the innocence once bestowed
Torn from the dreams I wanted as much as you, yours
The child beside me your judgement call
Shaking heads and whispered words
Shadows of redemption, of which I am not worthy
For I will never be good enough.
Hidden by a mask you care not to question
Taunted by my mistakes, troubled by truths hidden under the
Bruised by the world
Is there no rest for the weary in this place?
For I am invisible to your self-righteous hearts.
The widow and the fatherless
The crippled and the blind
broken and weary
chained and forgotten
The least of these.