More Than a Copy

Pretty on a paper,
perfect in its place.
Each color isolated.
No breath; no living space.

Paper doll patterns,
line up in class.
Attention gilds their edges.
No love; no living space.

One day a new song,
breaks into the rhythm.
Drums no longer beat
a monotonous grief.
One small breath; simple living space.

Wonders in stained glass,
lay exact in their frames.
The master selects each color
with precision and plan.
No shame; a new living space.

How so our world?
We behave like paper dolls.
In copy harkening to a drum
that marks Death's chant.
Fly from these walls, all you colors of glass.
Breathe in the air and soar to the clouds.
Sing a song that will free your soul,
and look for your Master's true given place.

To Be Glory Bound

Your footprints are set in words before be.
Do I rebel to prove my independence?
Perhaps pride gets the better of me.

Many times I looked away.
I tripped and fell, then cried myself to sleep,
praying -- searching for forgiveness -- always finding You.
Lord, you love me. Thank you that You love me.

Why are so many dead set to establish individuality?
They lose eternal life for the sake of society.
Defiance is their doom
as they tend their ignorance to full-bloom.

I will sing praises until I die.
And glory-bound my spirit will fly
because your arms opened wide.