Sitting on God's bench
my human putty face beaming out
I am a piece of this human game
we wind up confused by the many ways
wood splits and in there I find peace
the afternoon sun reflects itself
all over my path
blessed be
I find these fields full
I feel these wounds have healed
I want to become sharpest
sword in the armory
as blunt as I am
behind and owing much
the honest accounting
shows my shameful reality
wood splits and christ forms me again
my ambitions and desires these comic distractions
all over my path
blessed be
I pray that the little I am
will suffice
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