The Cry Of The Outcast
Annisa Arthur

You have defined me.
You have outlined me.
Yet you deny me.
I have been rejected.

Wasnít I made in your image and likeness?
Was I given a choice with my inherent sinfulness?
And even a lifetime of immolation will render useless.
For I will never be bleached in the absolution of my righteousness.

Wasnít I worthy when I was engendered?
Or was I some compulsatory pawn in a pharisaical derision?
Wasnít I in my most seraphic perseity when I was non Ėexistent?
So why must my secular manifestation trade wings with Dishonor?

Am I born out a self- indulgent courtesy?
Was I the stopgap in the wake of Luciferís banishing?
Or was I just re-affirming a botched theory?
The one that states that you are omnipotent, omniscient and loving?

Why am I on the outside, pounding at our fatherís gate?
Why has all the other children been let in?
Werenít we all prodigals when we dabbled with sin?
So now there is acceptance for SPECIFIC human weaknesses?

Was it really my decision the way I lived my life?
Did I really have control over what occurred on my insides?
Was it a matter of me surrendering my filial rights?
At that time did I so underestimate your might?

Are you sure I wasnít some kind of sport?
Entertainment provided for the perpetually bored?
Destined, even with all determination, to be a loser?
And puppeted with the false consolation of heaven?

Copyright © 2007. Used with author's permission.

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