bad day's end, bad poem...

i write from a heavy heart;

apparently, 75% of my peers in YouthMin have BS'ed their logs...

this bothers me because i am turning in mine late

and incomplete (2 out of 5).

i write because i am feeling a pain of betrayal and "why?"

it is a feeling that i surmise as being impaled alive in which you breathe through fractured lungs and every time you inhale and exhale you spit out a mouthful of blood... not a pretty picture, but so i feel.

here's the poem.

*i of the storm*

Nothing like the victims of Katrina

can express how my emotions turn and burn

with my coarse flesh and vile blood.

the i of the storm;

how it churns,

how it burns,

my flesh lies steel grey,

who can help me out of this wretched pit

that i am in?

i am Job;

all i have is tossed to the wind,

i am stripped of everything that i hold dear

all is for naught, except for GOD.

He sustains me,

He gives breath to this hollow shell

i will go on,

but only by His strength.

but the i of the storm grows stronger

who knows how bad it will be,

except for GOD...
(in regards to who knows how bad it will be.)