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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