Your Feet

The morning is Your aura gazed upon my depraved face,
How sinful could i be to break your precious word,
The word that came about with much shedding of blood,

I crawl to your feet,
 my face aged in the ashes of my foolish youth,
The lines of my palms stretch deeper in to my memories,
As they are the very hands that now hold up your Word to my eyes,

Pick me up Father out of the serpent cervix
 before he gives birth to the thoughts i hold as my children,
Adopt me as your servant and let my resting be at your feet.