Poor In Spirit

Blessed are the poor in spirit —

Those who have finally accepted
That they have nothing left to offer,
No resources to give,
No ministry to muster from within.

Blessed are those with no titles or roles,
Pulpits or robes,
Rhetorical skill,
Or audience appeal.

Blessed are those
Who just can’t keep their doors open anymore,
But can only hunker down and huddle up
With barely the strength to draw the blinds.

Blessed are the ones
Who can’t force a smile through another evening out,
Or face another drive home alone.

Blessed are the ones dismissed
For an age too high or low.

The ones neglected by one they trusted
And were entrusted to.

The ones unable to defend the ones they love,
Hungering for righteousness that seems never to come.

The ones with inkwells dry of words worth writing,
Incapable of producing proper poetry.

Blessed are those who can do nothing
But wait in this land of the living,
More than watchmen wait for the morning.
More than watchmen wait for the morning.

Blessed are the ones who finally cease their striving
To meet self-inflicted standards of perfection.

Blessed are the ones like the prophet
Humbled before the throne,
Able to cry only “Woe!”

Blessed are the ones being rudely awakened,
Suddenly unblinded,
To the poverty of their own souls

— for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.