Dirt

infant, with only an expectation to light their way
pauper, with irony in cups of dirt and nickels to prove he's genuine
all i see is helplessness and tasteless tongues
that swallow down a poison and rest in its delight

only daughter of an absent father, with running love to catch
oh my son of fists and bruises, with anger's guidance to lead
all i see is vein attempts and lost affections
that search in emptiness to fill

but am i that vain?
am i that blind?
to draw my arrogance like scales upon my eyes

am i that wrong?
am i that deaf?
to think all their cries for grace more helpless than mine

Oh God, be merciful on me

for I am only as clean
as the one whose dirt I choose to see