My Own Moses

Where are all these thoughts supposed to go?

From which corner of my mind does this information flow?

I can't see past reality

I just can't cross the raging sea

Where is my Moses?

When will he part my waves?

And if he does, could I trust

The path that he will make?

There are no dams to stop the raging flood inside my head

And the pent-up waters often spill out after I have gone to bed

Don't tell me that this water save

For I'll be crushed beneath the waves

Where is my Moses?

With a staff that waters must obey

And if he comes could I attempt

To survive in such a way?

Could even such a man as he survive the storm inside

Or will my Moses disappear, swallowed by my mind?

His staff is strong, but can it hold?

Can Moses stand, or will he fold

Against the rain?

I must be my own Moses is I expect to carry on.

Although I may not have a staff, I can tell right from wrong

And though the roaring tempest may still refuse to bow

My inner voice is strong enough to carry clear and loud.

For now I'll let the waters be, to rage and rise and fall.

But I'll be my own Moses yet, and they will heed my call.