Own I’m ungrown…

---

Oh God I start to see 

my immaturity,

I feel embarrassed by 

the weaknesses I try

to cover up in me. 

I want to truly be

grown up already, I 

want to be lifted high…

..not as was Christ of God, 

beside where people trod

past, jeering, making fun 

of him, and letting run

their mouths, and hearing odd 

misunderstandings got,

 from their ignoring, won 

by puffing up begun

by strutting in the sun 

instead of list’ning done

on own, away from folk 

in small room kind o’ poke-

y, known by only one 

instead of heaps of fun

while playing ev’ry joke 

upon the other bloke.

“Impressive!” is what I 

seem bound to want to try

to be, but now gladly 

I’d catch your eye on me;

know that’s enough to buy 

full core of new-found life,

instead of just sadly 

enslaved rather badly.

Unless you make me new,

there’s not much I can do

to be raised as your son, 

your work’s started, begun

by spirit here of you - 

been sent to grow me true.

I must just trust - you’ve won; 

your word that I’m your son.

Please grow your life and love, 

and wisdom from above

in me, I trust your plan 

to make of me a man,

not just with surly shove

through sturdy leather glove.

Authority to stand

against whatever’s planned

by all the people round, 

the nations who are found

enslaved by lesser gods

who see nothing at odds

with loveless life, no sound

of deep joy to redound.

I’m glad I’m yours. Your nods

pay meaning out in wads.

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