Angry Young Man



Oh, angry young man with your feet in your shoes
And your fist in your HANDS.
Won’t you tell me,
Where are you going, angry young man?

You walk with a sting of rebellion and rage.
As the asphalt slaps the stride of your gait.

And the nape of your nose bores into the sun.
As you wrinkle your scowl at what they’ve become,
It’s everything you’re not.
And the festering boils from the stench of your past.
Waltz up to enchant you and offer a dance.
Why can’t you move forward?
Your pride will not bend.
And now you have pissed all your prizes to the wind.
With a chest puffed out wide and shoulders, you’ve chipped.
Oh, angry young man, your sail has a ship.
And a baggage claim tag too large to behold
Is weighing you down
As your hands fold.

If you would only look at creation and notice that it breathes
Swaying colors of green with a sprinkle of gold,
A teardrop of amber and a breeze blowing bold.
All God’s creation sings, yes it shouts,
if only you knew what the world was about?

Take away your titles, your money, and all your earthly dreams.
Then gaze into the mirror and grasp.
What you are without your material clout.

Not what they tell you
The world that is. . .
But HE who formed you, the one who says, “Be still.”
Splash the Word on your numb and wake up the sleepy man.
Shake off the chip on your shoulder,
Shake off the blood from your hands.

Take away the swine flesh that you eat.
And bow lowly before the feet,
Of The One, the whole world will bow to.
Take off the unholy, take off your shoes.

For the ground you are on is Sanctified.
And all our pride will become liquefied,
Rundown into the ground and dissipate.
Please take off the unholy son before it’s too late.

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