I want to introduce a talented young poet and friend, Brandon Hull. We’ll be sharing some of his writings on DI in the future, and I encourage you to check out more of his stuff at his blog Pushing Through Concrete.
I must confess to an obsession, when pressed for an impression
I’ll give most of my possessions to compress to a lesser lesson.
And I’ll stress the imperfection, that I’m messed up so I’m testing
positive for the deception, that I’m the exception to correction.
I’ll tirade and excuse, refuse the clues and then I’ll lose
any concept of normality, so I beat up and abuse.
I’ll load the ammo and light the fuse, aim the gun but will not choose
to shoot my mouth off and accuse, or bite the bullet choose to muse.
‘Cause I can hide behind my hide, or decide to ride the tide
I can stand high when plied with questions or choose to look inside.
What’s residing in my mind can try to push and try to pry,
coerce me to defiance, or conceal me when I cry.
My mind is a beast, and I find that I feast,
on the least of my thoughts when my sin won’t cease.
To widen the crease between the Most and the least
like a wolf hiding in the fleece, the need seems to increase.
Satan tries his tricks, lets me pretend that I pick
its my own clock that I tick but then I get sick
I’m done licking my wounds, cuz I’m not so slick
to think the thickness of my skull doesn’t need a healthy kick.
‘Cause when I’m controlled by the cold, its my heart that you hold
my mind is hardened and bitter and it’s covered in mold
be bold in my life ’cause I need to be told
That You purchased my life, I met You now and my heart has been sold
You’ve been the breath of my affection since I first made this correction
I confess I did a double-take then applied the preferred protection
to perfect the imperfection I had to connect my heart’s objection
to the rejection of sin’s infection, and inflect to His possession
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Jeremy L. Berg 