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