Frustrations, they take their tole

Frustrations, they take their tole
And all too oft I must play the role
Of competent, though in truth I am
Rather cold and callous

Here I linger in my palace of rage
Waiting for that lonely age
Where all will bend to my will
Yet still I am discontent

I am outstretched and worn
Restless and torn
From all humanity
In my quiet insanity
I bleed out all of self desire
For what remains I must retire

For they conspire against me
And truly are my enemy
I long to get away
For even a moment or a day

To find that quiet place
Where one can respite
In peace and find a remnant
Of grace

Though at times I fear
I may never again
See thy face
All I remember
Is but a trace

And soon tis lost
In this waste

Oh take me from this place
To a world yet born
Where beauty and grace
May thee yet still adorn

For here I remain
To weep and to morn
But thy kingdom of hope
Is the only rope
Which may save
And pull me from this plague

I need thee
In this hour
Surround me in thy shower
That I may feel the rain
Wash away all the doubt and pain

Such pleasant washing
I long to be cleansed
Of all fear and failure
That in time
I may come to thy gate
Rich and full
And resting
In thy tender
Embracing
Unending
Care

-Joshua Lee Foist