They say the pen is mightier than the sword
(Though whose pen can be mightier than yours, oh Lord?)
So with fingers blessed by You, this pen in my hand I hold
Yet not a single inspiration from my mind comes to word
Thoughts clutter my mind and crowd my head
Begging to be writ so that they may be read
But written out on paper, to me they seem dead
Where is the sincerity that to these thoughts lead?
Are my words to please You, Oh Greatest One?
Or are they merely a source of hobby and fun?
When I write that You are brighter than any sun
Is my heart really alive or only my fingers that run?
The words of the elders are with so much effect
Why must I waste time when with them I can reflect
But such is my nafs that it continues to interject
And so succumb I to the pen, once more, unchecked
Oh Lord, change my tone from hubris to meek
For without You, the truth is, I am very weak
Youth until old age when bones will begin to creak
Let only Your pleasure be what I truly seek