Me
Who I am can only be described in words that have no syllables
and stories that never end.
I was there in the garden,
under the trees, made from Adam.
Born into life,
soul in my lungs,
I was loved.
But disater struck,
my people fell down.
I am to blame.
I was not the one .
But, oh my soul yerned.
Oh my pain was never unquinched
I ate of the fruit.
I slept naked.
I bore the sins of my foolishness.
I was not the one .
But oh how love came through!
How evil did not turn its face to glory!
How beauty unmasked my hideousness in a world of shame!
How my love overcame the world!
How God forgiveness made me!
I am the one!
The one who was lost, but is found.
I am.
I am.
I am.
I am Jene'.
Made of blood and love;
woven from peace,
out from the darknesss,
burried in shawdows of pain that I have not felt,
I am the one.
And my story will never belong to me.
I am the one.