Posted in POEM

Grace

My mother called me Roy,
Because, I was her Prince.
I was her first born,
I was her first joy!
She taught me, how to read and write,
And she told me, about Jesus.

When I was fifteen,
I tried writing poems.
Now, I’m much older,
And all I can do–is blog.
I named myself, Elroypoet: King of poetry.
Because, in my mother’s eyes, I was royalty.

But, it’s not my mother’s love, that is at fault,
For my claim to grandiosity.
It’s my own inept integrity,
That has caused me–this indignity.
For I, like other men before,
Have fallen into a trap, of vanity.

And now, all I have–is mediocrity.
There is nothing more,
That I can give.
I have stubs,
Where caring hands should be:
I have no creativity.

Grace is coming for me now,
Because, I never wanted–
To go to the cross and see;
I was too selfish, being free!
Thank you Jesus, for my mother,
And for blessing her with me.

By: ElRoy © 2019

Author:

A Poet's Diary - I See Life, Through My Rose Coloured Lenses.

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