O God, I am a shadow that shrinks when the sun climbs, A footprint washed away before the tide turns. My days are a handful of chaff tossed to the wind, My nights a thin blanket too short to cover my shame. I am the cracked bell that clangs off key in the steeple, The rusted hinge that screams when the door of mercy swings. My tongue is a flint that sparks only smoke, My eyes two wells run dry before the dawn. Look away! Look to the pillar of fire that never gutters, To the rock that gives water without being asked. Let the trumpet of silver sound in another’s mouth, Let the banner of victory wave over a worthier head. Pass me by, O Lord. I am the bramble that tears the hem of Your robe, The thorn that draws blood You never owed. I am the grave that swallows every seed You plant, The mouth that turns every gift to gall.