Hippocrite

When I pray, it's not in accordance to your will. I pray you will bless and anoint me... So that I can show off to others how good I am. Not how good You are. At the core of my life is still me. My ego and my pride.

I can't bear to sing the songs or "restoring to me the joy of your salvation" or "this is my desire"

I don't honour you. I memories words and articulate them without meaning them. Focusing more on the melody and harmony more than the person I'm presenting it to.

My audience is not You. It is the people around me in the room.

Just like how a lot of other things I do by rituals: "preaching and doing things in Your name" ... Without knowing You.

You've called me countless times, gave me advice and counsel ... Told me what's wrong and right... But all the time I always turned away.

Just like how flowery one can sing a song without meaning it, so can one preface a gospel without a living God.

Yet judge not should I.
For it is Thee that enables us.
I am wicked and wretched,
Far from saving myself in anyway.

I trust in my abilities,
My skills and talents to earn me a living.
I dare not trust You.

Even if I say I do,
"Give you my life",
Yet truthfully I do not.

Yet honestly, I am but a hippocrate

I love the world me re than you,
Choose to serve it as my master instead if you.

Truth in Your Word, one can only serve one. I will hate You and love the other, the world.

I will stand in the crowds mocking and calling out to release the criminal and thus... to crucify you.

You've called me out in the waters... Yet I still deny you.

And only when the night darkens... When the earth shakes... And the sky rips apart. .

Shall I woefully bear my chest.
And ponder upon all the time I have wasted.
Not living the life Eternally.

" now this is eternal life, to know you and the one who sent you"

I do not know,
I know about.
I do not follow,
I act to look like I do.
I do not listen,
I hear and disobey.

I like a grass... Swaying in the best wind.
Waiting for my day to come,
To be thrown into the fire and burnt.

Forget me not Lord,
Like the little silver and gold that purifies in a crucible...

Let your fire,
Burn away all that is not of You.

Consume me.
Flame.