I stand in front of the mirror in the morning,
what, then, I ask, do I see?
A soul, shrieking, yelling, crying, screaming,
please, God, please won't you help me?
All I ask from you, Lord, nothing more,
please pass this cup from my lips.
I know I am not one of your favorite servants,
why do I deserve this?

And I cry out, to someone, anyone, everyone,
like a phone call to the world.
And that phone, it's me, it rings, and rings,
and all I get is an answering machine.
I stand, in night, at dark, waiting, hoping,
for the full light of dawn.
I wait for the pain and pleasure of salvation,
I grasp it, but now its' gone.

06/14/2002

Author's Note: I actually thought this was one of my better poems, but so few people read it, and I never got any comments. So, I'll enter it on here in the hopes that someone will tell me what they think of this poem. I thought the descriptions and analogies were well written, myself.

Posted on 06/14/2002
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