Worship without focus
Is simply a blissful ruckus
I can stand before the throne of God
Eyes glazed over, I stand a fraud
He will not allow me to stand like this long
He desires my whole, for me to sing HIS song

My God, You call into my deepest chambers
Where a wildfire raged, now lies embers
A vast field of dry unforgiveness
With withered lilies who droop, scentless
But a deep echo vibrates over the ground
A rumble crescendos where disdain is found

Like tears gushing from the eyes of the broken
God's relentless hand bursts into the valley of the unspoken
Chords of righteousness force the ground to crack
Out seaping a thick serum with nesting sacks
Hatching grubs of the ground coil in anguish, screeching for silence
They came in the time of abundance, their self-proclaimed fertility a pretense

Each plump worm fat from feasting on apathy
Bringing death to the land, even the stars become dull and filthy
But like golden lava, the sun's rays billow
This ground for years has laid barren and fallow
In the Light, every blade of grass brown from sin extinguished
Explosions erupt in the land and every fighting worm squished

Rubble and death is the make-up of the land
The former field scooped up like sand in His hand
A gentle blow from His lips forces grains to fly from Him
A new world created, a world no longer dim
These grains float slowly around the chamber
They glean as seeds of life and cover the embers

I am whipped back before the feet of Yahweh
Weak and withered and broken . . . but here I will stay.