a feeling like israel

i’m not sure what to write this year
my pen has gotten rusty from disuse
and my words, though multitudinous
in my mind, seem without form and void
on their arduous journey to the page.
i won’t let go till you give me this poem!
but why am i writing it? am i trying to give voice
to your great goodness, or am i merely
wanting to make much of myself
to show people oh-how-smart and
oh-how-insightful i am because i am a poet.
as if i could ever say something original
or think a thought you hadn’t conceived
before time ever began. oh the mystery!
oh the waiting, the aching, the longing
your people had for all to be once more
right with the world, to shake off the shackles
of shame they’d worn for centuries
and claim their place in the kingdom.
oh how they longed … but for what?
on the days i’m honest i feel like israel,
looking for a savior who will solve all my sorrows
without asking too much of me in return.
yet you never ask of us anything
you haven’t already done.