I'm Just Me

I can't walk on water.
I can't read a portent.
When it comes to signs of dominion, I'm hardly an expert.
Spiritually inert, in other words.
Accursed?
Unlikely, just not deified.
Unrefined.
There's a thousand supplications adrift in my mind.
Miracles aren't the purview.
Sure, I read a book once,
but I forget most of the words.

I have the luxury of that.

So I'm not the Son of God.
So I won't sprout wings,
and lead you to kings
who'll wine and wither and dine and dither and never allow your mind to keep score.
I don't have the keys to the pearly gates,
and I don't have the words to wrap your foes up in hate,
and not every sentence's indelible magick.

And sure you might bawl and might say that it's tragic.
That I've seen some nights,
and I've seen some sights,
And surely my love must be some great big secret?
A totem of wired up power, devouring
all your spite and fright and turning it to the good?
You're but a crucible misunderstood.
I'm not a carpenter, working with wood
This isn't a world of shouldn't and should.
There isn't a scripture and no holy verse,
There isn't a bargain or some ancient curse.
This isn't a pitfall, a dead drop, a ruse,
Whatever I am was not meant to confuse.
You hiding your idolatry just isn't working.
I am not the Son of God - just hardly working.