Underneath the cloudy skies

Something desperate filling her eyes.

Hazy objects, cold and dim,

Threatening to press her in.

 

One hazy object, the fear,

Of her failure now much too drear.

Straining, trying to attain

Vict'ry over all the pain.

 

Another object, the Doubt,

He busted in and won't get out.

Berating her all the day,

The girl, ashamed, turns away.

 

Furthermore, the object Past,

Away she pushed it at the last.

Not an easy one to send,

Past came back to keep her penned.

 

One of her biggest objects,

she now trying to be perfect.

But perfection with her past,

Fake, she seems to be at last.

 

Her biggest object, her Self,

Seeming to her like a small elf.

Tries to get away from it,

Tripping, falling, like a twit.

 

Not knowing what else to do,

She falls and cries in the damp dew.

Thinking all about her lies,

Wondering now why she tries.

 

But then, thinking 'bout her dole,

A presence speaks into her soul.

“God,” she cried, “What did I do,

To get attention from You?”

 

“Child, I love you,” He began,

“The rules are hard to beat against,

Fulfilled you'll be if you trust,

Understand that now you must.

 

Blessings I will rain on you,

If you renounce your claim to you.

I gave up all, you give yours,

Then you'll see time in Heavn's hours.”

 

“Dear Lord, You I want to love,

Give me Your meekness like a dove.

People I have pushed away,

Now I cannot make them stay.

 

I do not know if I can

Oh to love You with all that I am.

You see, Lord, I've tried before,

Something, always, I love more.

 

And all I've done before now,

How to do good I barely know.

Everything I've touched, it seems,

All the good fades into dreams.

 

Lord, what if you send me on,

A mission widely frowned upon?

What if I forsake You when

On me something You depend?”

 

“Child, I know you're just human,

All make mistakes, that is proven.

Things living now can forgive,

That is only why you live.

 

I made you to want my love,

To do my service you will crave.

In some things you will mess up,

But I'll be there to pick you up.

 

Objects only serve to say

'You have done wrong, now you must pay.'

My words you must listen to,

Because it means, 'I love you.'”

 

I wrote down the girl's story,

And lest I should sound a phony

A confession needs to be,

For that little girl was me.