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Mud Kings

We are the problem
We refuse to let God save us
We insist on helping him
While every day, all around us:
So many doors opening to life
But we have to have it our own way
It has to be on our terms
Because we're so sure we see the answer
That we alone can be trusted to know
But "alone" turns out to be the key word
It defines the essence of our existence
We hold to the worship of self
So pathetic in our vanity
So wretched in our pride
So ugly in our self-described perfection
So loathesome in our lust to rule
If we could but see ourselves that moment
How childish, shallow, and pitiful
We stand defiantly on our soapboxes
Overseeing our kingdoms of mud
Declaring the laws of our domains
Disdaining those who do not conform
How foolish and whiny is our flesh
How pitiful our self-ascribed grandeur
When we could truly rule in the heavens
If only we would choose to submit
To the One who is King
The real King
The King of Glory
Not just the king of the mud

Stephen Pursell,
original: 12/25/01, revised: 10/14/14