theblackdostoyevsky

I wanna be like Jesus, but who’ll let me have the right,

to walk amidst my dark-faced peers like I’ve got the light?

“I remember when you wasn’t so uptight,

livin’ in bottles and foreign beds,

cheatin’ the Lord with secret hordes,

now you done gone got the big head.”

How hopeless inside a barrel of crabs when

jealous hearts wield insecurities lash, and

rip flesh from my ankles as I stretch for His path.

How discouraging when the reach cannot grasp.

Memories no more than failures reruns,

The Heaven I’m thinking, tryina shine like the Son.

Impossible prospect while I abide in this flesh,

so, what the hell, fail, and self-prophecies rest.

But the torments of sin, futile and vain the bells toll

ringing a dirge for my death knell to urge,

to poison the soul that His Life toils to purge

sufferings cold and alone, and I marvel

where escaped the polls of all those

doubting and impenitent souls.

Even Jesus was crucified ‘tween them two thieves,

while His friends hid trembling amidst the leaves.

Weren’t no companionship on left or right hand,

only mockers and gawkers and mourners and scorners,

cuz scarcely will one dare die for a righteous man.

We wanna be good, but we shun to be holy hollering,

“Nobody’s perfect, so don’t try for that glory.

One of one, the Christ is. You a cheap imitation

So don’t work to be conformed to His station.

That role has been filled, the application is closed;

If God wanted you perfect, it’d been you that He rose.

So give up the pursuit, just pour up and drink,

cuz ain’t none of us pursuing all that like you think.

We gave that up long ago, when the road got too long

to keep denying this flesh. We all do a little bit wrong.

God’ll wink at our sin, He knows we’re but dust.

So cast off all that pressure, let off lust in small measures.

I swear we won’t mind; we do it, too, all the time.”

But, I wanna be holy; I’m sick of this sin.

Even if I’ll never be Him, His path I’ll begin.

Perchance He shall meet me along this hard road,

or perchance it grows smoother the farther I go.

Whatever the price is, however you feel, to be

like Him’s what I long for, to have His Spirit within.

I don’t think I’m better than you cuz I strive,

But I’m sick, and I’m loathing this dying inside;

this dryness rattles, and stiffness roars in my bones

I need soft bread, live water, a flesh heart from this stone.

It ain’t against you that I rise to His call,

it’s for Him to be glorified in me, so in y’all.