The Creator

Where is the creator? The one who started it all.
Whom do we look to for clarification, upon whom may we call?
There it is in the good book. It tells us plain as day.
Yet, outside of those pages it seems a different way.
I pray for the sick and they are not healed,
"prosperity gospel" leaves my cup unfilled.
I have never seen the lame walk or the blind given sight.
Although on Sunday I have looked with all of my might.

Faith without works they say is dead;
proven are my beliefs to doubts instead.
I've read a book and fiercely proclaimed it to be true;
wake up and remember not that book till the day is through.
Outlandish claims to believe in a god in the sky,
and furthermore a heaven and hell when you die.
The knowledge is in my heart that He is alive;
not nearly as important as a steady nine-to-five.
What a fool... a fool I have been;
epiphany that everyday life is sin.

Out, out into the wilderness I travel searching for truths unseen.
Shedding personal ambition and all things unclean.
"Lunatic!" my friends call after me as I disappear into the brush.
I do not turn back to wave. Too much time wasted, now I must rush.
An old bible my only companion crossing into this unknown land.
Here is where you develop faith in God and remove it from man.
Pray every day to get out of my own head,
start with obedience and stick with it till I'm dead.
Carry my cross until resignation,
working out with fear and trembling my salvation.

To live is Christ.

To die is gain.