In this seemingly perfect life
There are enough buts
Daily struggles with sins bought
Only yet to be caught
Tooth and nail we fought
Seeking help from all fronts
But the Church will rather send us forth
Leaving us to deal with our fears and hurts
Slowly, I begin to rust
Spirit filled with dust
But of course how were you to know
I still speak in tongues
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem