Saboteur

My mind feels dull and hard to focus.
Why must I fly this eccentric orbit?
Can a broken spirit be hewn from surplus?
What blessings draw such ill report?

What is this misfit mechanism
that triggers malcontent alarm?
I try so hard to plant my feet
where reflex won’t uproot them.

Most see only mild manner,
but my heart hosts a fevered battle.
I cannot simplify the matter,
and have no saber left to rattle.

Might I belong where pavement ends
and no markers point the Way to go?
I have some sense of higher purpose
but what, and how, I do not know.

Am I a man or just a worm
and toward which end shall I invest?
Patience takes too long to learn.
What happens if I fail this test?

So, I concede another day
but swallow gall to let it go.
How can this vessel made of clay
tell the Master potter “No”?

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will turn back to you."
~ Psalm 51:10-13