My Lord, I cry to you

Here is a poem crafted from that powerful opening line.

I Cry to You

I cry to You with sackcloth, with scripture, With every frayed and blackened thread of faith That binds this aching heart.I bring the fracture, The bitter psalm,the plea that circles wraith-like In the hollow of my night.

I cry to You with verses worn and thumbed, With ink-stained promises I can't feel, In this ashen silence,deaf and dumbed, Prostrate before a throne that seems unreal— Begging for the touch of light.

The sackcloth scratches, a familiar pain, A truth more real than comfort's hollow lie. The ancient words like winter's driving rain, Are all I have to hold.I ask not why, But only that You hear.

I cry with David's raw, unkempt despair, With Job's defiance rooted in the dust. Is any prayer more perfect than a bare And broken trust?

So take this offering of lack and lack, This scripture-chant against the closing dark. Until the rending of this sackcloth crack And from the silence,strike a single spark.

Amen.