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Ocelot's Poetry and Songs

 Master of This
 
I've been wrong, you were right.
This is the phrase that molds my life.
Another day, more wasted time.
Another breath, a useless rhyme
I'm misunderstood, by all who try
to listen to this story of mine.
Another night, sleepless again.
Is there anyone I can confide in
All humans fail, time after time.
Including me, a failure sublime.
Sub-Perfect, yes! Well under par.
I'm fit for no being, that I've seen this far.
I long to fit in, to just feel I belong.
But it's too much to ask, I've waited too long.
I chose the wrong road, according to men.
But how much do I long, just to fit in?
More than I want, with all of my heart
to serve Jesus Christ, who died at the start?
So now in surrender, completely prostrate,
I offer to him, my life, my mistake.
But what does he do; does he make me a slave?
Is that the whole reason his son faced the grave?
No, he gives me his power, his might and his will.
The tools that I need, the devil to kill.
Day after day, time still goes by.
But how much is wasted? And that much what by?
Here is my life, so much as it is.
Mold it to yours, master of this.
 
Kevin Metcalf
1997

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