
Not Me
Oh my gosh, I'm not that good
I would have to sit and pray before my words could be heard
As you see, God is my writer
I just sit and listen with my typewriter
I love to write and wish I could articulate
Every thing on my mind into poems, oh that would be great
Thoughts into words, words that would rhythm
Paper in hand, pen just going as if no time
Flowing endlessly for others to hear
Gods words finally being heard in a way many could bear
This is my dream, this is me
I believe God allows this to be
Even right now, as you read this poem
These are not my words but of His and He brings them home
Home where they are kept safe