The answer is easy.
But it’s hard to let go
Of all that is me,
Of all that I know.

It hurts to release
All the pride that I’ve built,
And I’m oddly at home
In the poisonous guilt.

I’m programmed to stay
In that perilous place;
Just a drink from the cup
And my senses erase.

I sip at fear and envy,
Edge life with black and green,
And settle in to ruminate—
My usual routine.

The place leaves me mired,
And spinning my wheels
Stuck in mud, smeared in grime,
Wrapped in witless appeals.

But I don’t have to stay here,
Though worn the rut may be.
I was wrong, Lord, come help me!
Will You please and set me free?