Wishy washy, wishy wash

a little here, a little there

living life without a care.

 

But in this mirage there lies a place;

a hole so deep

a night so dark

a void so consuming and unfillable

 

tugging, groping, grasping

for my soul.

What are my defenses

when they are my enemies?

 

The devil twists and tricks, spiralling me down, around

and away

from You.

 

"Fix me," I beg,

"Save me!"

 

You say, "Fear not, child.

Here are the directions," and

hand me a bible.

 

The void dissipate;

I am Yours.