At mornings I find it hard to pray,
on my knees not Knowing what to say.
My heart numb and fatally cold,
the results of an uncaring world.
Tears begin to flow as I try to find my soul,
to just hear a whisper from God my goal.
Unsuccessful I go about my day,
empty motions not seeing my way.
I marry the God 'money' instead,
how to get more of it fills my head.
Sorrowful, insatiable I go along,
something telling me this path is wrong.
At the days end I am once more on my knees,
asking God to free my soul please.
Free my soul, free my soul,
free my soul please.
copyright@2006 by Mark Anthony St. Rose. All rights reserved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem