The Wastrel
What did you say?
If You are speaking
I can not hear You;
Likely because I am not listening.
Please don’t bother me
Or break my concentration
On my latest whim of wanting
Or inhibit me from daydreaming
About all I have been missing.
I stopped numbering my days
Years ago
Ignoring Your wisdom,
Refusing to become engrossed
In anything besides
My own intentions
And definition of meaning;
Choosing not to spend or be spent
For You or anyone else,
But only for the glory
Of my own name
And pleasure of myself
No matter the expense
Or how demeaning.
Despite all You have given
I lost track of gratitude somewhere
Exhausting myself
In laboring for the wind,
Hiding my talents in the earth
Instead of lighting the wick
And lifting the torch
Amidst the unending gloom and illusions,
Making no room for an intrusion
Of plans beyond my sight
Or an attitude and effort
Deserving of the fight,
Succumbing to mind-numbing thoughts
Lacking worth,
While swimming in the shallow end
Of delusion, greed, and fancy.
Above it all
I allowed myself
To be enticed
More and more,
Peering out the window,
Opening wide the door,
And welcoming sin
To come in dancing,
Capturing my heart,
And owning the floor
To my own doom and hurt.
Never truly seeing my value
And the importance of my contribution
As You do
I have given so many excuses
Instead of myself,
Disregarding Your reasons
And only scratching my potential’s surface;
Praying with little intent
And even less depth
With a soul bent
On employing endless treasons
Against what I said I believed,
Rarely seeking Your countenance
And abstaining from Your purposes
Rather than honoring Your Name.
Finally when all breath is gone,
I have given up the ghost,
And I find myself
Standing before the throne
Of the great Lord of Hosts
What will I say
To defend all the waste
Of time, talents, and troubles?
What words will suffice
To explain the squandering of a life
And why all You offered
I disused and disdained
And let Your dream for me
Lay dormant on the shelf
Due to a heart
Tempted by distraction,
Lulled into inaction,
Full of doubt and indifference
Instead of empty of self?
Looking into Your holy eyes
At long last
Will I hear the words
I should desire and eternally prize,
“Well done good and faithful servant”?
Will I be able
To present an offering that abides
Or just mumble
And try to hide
Hands full of hay and stubble?
If I don’t repent and amend
My ways now,
Will I find to my dismay
That day
To be too little, too late
To justify or atone
For all I left undone?
What will I decide in this hour?
Which price will I pay?
To be nothing less
Than humble and faithful
Or to be nothing more
Than a wastrel?
Discover more from the ploys of heaven
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.