Fists
By Dillon Collins
When I find my final resting place in you God I'm going to have to tell you everything you already know about me...
Those last secrets I thought I could keep, holding onto the last vestiges of defiance I thought would make me free.
I grip my life so tightly, intertwined with my fragil dreams, holding it in my fists so defiant raised to heavens gates.
As if I was the one who thought that with my own power I could control my fate.
You provided the fish and the bread for me, I did not even have a worm to eat by my own power.
In this very hour and the rest of my life when I thought that I had the power it only brought me to strife.
I realized my frailty but can't open my fists. There's cables on my fingertips, twining around and slitting my wrists.
Draining my hope and filling up cists, of rage and defiance so I am suffering of my own unreliance.
God I give you my fists, you'll have to open them for me. I don't have the strength to cut the cables before me.
I am helpless and hopeless strung out on my own, I give my fists to your hands reaching down from your throne.
I believe that you can help me with my unbelief Father. Forgive me, and please accept the nothing I have to offer.
