I lay my yokes
at the precipice of Jehovah’s gate.
I come before the mirror
with a body twice
the weight of the world,
with a soul, pregnant
with grief. Lord, I begin
the prayer, see what I’ve made
of Your temple? See what ought to be
a living sacrifice, dead
like what moves a vulture’s tongue
to a dance? My mouth is
a dead hymn. Lord, can you hear
me? Pluck me, this once,
from the tooth of my vulnerabilities.
O, let my deliverance be
at hand, like Your kingdom.
Credited to:
—Flourish Joshua
Twitter: @fjspeaks
IG: @therealflourishjoshua