Freed

I find myself staring

at hands

that futilely grasp at the

temporal things:

pleasure, power, prestige.

All things that are ultimately worthless.

If only I could pry

the aching fingers lose

and

free my soul!

It's not mine. 

Whatever "it" is,

it is Yours, Lord.

You provide in abundance

for my needs

tho' still I

cling to the promises of this world.

My eyes search

for the gleam that

says gold and glitter

but my heart searches for Truth and depth,

for the One Who

poured

Himself, His life,

out and into me.

Enslaved to the earthly,

longing for the Holy,

living for eternity,

I long to live

as Yours.