by Pat Hood
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
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Just two parts of a multi-part poem. We all make those desperate moves when necessary.
Running faster, faster yet
From the sin that does beset.
A glance behind and I can see
The demons that are chasing me.
Faster still, Iím running now
I know not where, I know not how
I expect to ever reach the end
Where, bruised and torn, my soul can mend.
The sounds are chasing me along;
screams where once there was a song.
Life rolls quickly down the road
Bent and burdened by the load.
As I run I ponder thus:
What will happen to all of us?
No one knows the end but You.
Am I running away or to?
Dig it deeper, deeper still
until the hole, against my will,
is deeper than my eyes can see,
and the dirt begins to cover me.
Still I dig, not knowing why
till I no longer see the sky,
And there is darkness all around
as I go deeper in the ground.
I hear the footsteps up above,
and a voice is calling out in love;
each time I think that I can hide
I find You there, right by my side.
The dirt I throw is all my own
and I just want to be alone;
Yet here I am, safe from all harm
rising now, upon Your arm.