How weak I am, how utterly pathetic,
My life is a sham and probably heretic.
I have nothing to bring, no skills to offer,
Except feeding moths and blessing the robber.
Guilt overwhelms me and I’m filled with dread,
Imagining being shown who I should’ve been instead.
Though within and without is the Creator’s aesthetic,
How weak I am, how utterly pathetic.
~Poet of Ephraim