You lit the fire of my heart,
to shine Your light aloud!

But my selfish fears
blocked Your light,
and cast these shadows—
dark as night.

May Your Love
burn me raw.
May Your Truth
replace my lies.

It was I
who set heaven aflame
and stilled the fires of hell.
Engulfed by the smoke
with tears in my eyes
I am burned, and blind.
But when all is gone,
there will only be You.
This is my final prayer.

O my Lord—
I will never find You,
yet there is only You.

I cannot touch You,
yet You are all that touches me.

I cry into the silence,
but Your silence does not break.

I pray until my voice is dust,
and still—You do not speak.

It is right—yes, it is right—
that You should abandon me.
For what I chase is not You,
but a shadow I cast upon Your name.

What I thought You were
could never be.
How small I made You—
pressed into the shape of my fear.

I used to find You
in broken bread and tender words,
in upturned hands and well-sung songs,
in the warmth of friends,
and sacred pages.

But now, my Lord—
You are all but gone.

And nothing remains
but my ache for You,
and faith.

This pain—
yes, even this—
is Your gentle call,
guiding me home.

So here I am.
Now I wait
in the dark,
with open hands,
and a heart that burns
only for You.

You live like machines,
grinding gears,
perfect gestures,
empty hearts.

Smiles rehearsed,
compassion outsourced.

You preach love,
but it never leaves your lips,
nor enters your heart.

You took the living truth
and caged it in rules.
Castrated the wild gospel—
cut from it the mystery,
the mercy,
the Truth.

Reduced it to performance,
tradition,
nonsense.
A step-by-step script
for staying the same.

You starved shepherds,
leading flocks to mirages.
You count the sheep,
but ignore their thirst.

Genuine experience replaced
by hollow expectation.
Wonder traded
for rules you bend in secret.

You demand conformance,
but have never been transformed.

You speak of light,
but live in shadow.

Oh wicked elders,
lay down your tools—
we are made in the image of God,
not forged from stone and wire.

Each soul is a melody,
unique in its tune—
some soft as a whisper,
some bright as the moon.

Your heart holds the tempo,
your spirit, the key,
a symphony woven
of all you might be.

Some days, just a flute-note,
light, floating, alone.
Some days, a full chorus—
deep, resonant, strong.

Don’t envy the songbird
who sings in the shade,
or scorn the bold thunder
that won’t be delayed.

No note is misplaced here,
no chord is a wrong—
just life, ever-tuning
the lines of your song.

So play without fearing,
let dissonance pass.
The world needs your music—
no voice sings your class.