Why do Your footsteps halt at this thorn-choked gate? Why does Your voice still echo in my hollow chest? I have measured my worth by the length of my failures, Stacked my sins like bricks against the sky, Each one a barrier, each one a plea to be left alone. I am the stray dog that snarls at the hand that feeds, The cracked wineskin leaking the vintage You poured, The field salted by my own tears, The lamp that gutters in the wind of my doubt. How long will You wait outside this bolted door? How long will You call through the keyhole of my fear? I tear my clothes, I claw the earth, I howl into the void Let another be lifted, another be washed, Another drink the cup of Your fierce delight. I am the wave that crashes and forgets its own name, The ember that dies before it warms a single hand. I am the moth drawn to the flame that consumes, The clay that begs the kiln to cool. Spare me the blaze of Your choosing I shatter, I scatter, I vanish in the heat. Choose the oak that weathers every storm, Choose the star that burns without burning out.