I can't seem to break this code,
That everyone else seems to know.
I can't knock on the door of Your abode,
Not when I'm not worthy to look in the window.
You said, 'Knock and the door will open',
But what if I'm afraid?
Of what, I don't know; maybe just being chosen,
What if I'm not up to the spiritual upgrade?
The wind moves the leaves of the trees,
Mountains stand as grand sentinels in the distance;
How could the God that made all this have made me -
I who am so imperfect and stubborn and dense?
And yet in the beginning of His word is proof,
After the world and before the serpent.
We are made in His image, though no longer sin-proof,
To be part of His handiwork is the greatest compliment.