Righteous men have penned
elegant words praising him
and boasted  that they were elevated
by the mention of him
But what  can I say in praise of him?
You told us to follow him
Yet here I stand, veiled and shackled
A lowdown criminal,
trembling beneath  mountains of sin
his true lovers cried and wept
But what tears can I shed for him?
Only those wept by crocodiles,
cheap knockoffs – unfit for the likes of him
I don’t got nothing to give
My pockets are turned out
Nothing there,
only air and scraps of lint
So ashamed & afraid I withdraw,
Trembling
What love letter can I write to him?
My pen and my tongue are dumbstruck
What can I say? What words of mine
Are fit for him?
Broken slaves, we press our faces in the dirt
Hoping for “My Mercy outstrips My Wrath”
Praying that there is space for us,
though we are polluted with sin
Maybe if we play pretend
And imitate his lovers we will find a way in
Maybe “My Mercy outstrips My Wrath”
Will come for us
And our meager scribbles will be blessed by Him