Zacchaeus
You have bid me climb down from my hiding place,
Where I seek to escape my own smallness.
Self-exaltation
Is loneliness indeed.
The canopy of my covering
Hides many broken things.
I have walked the path of the unwanted,
Till the consolation of accumulation
Enmeshed me in deception.
No none heard me cry.
I have wept on the billy-goat paths
To the wayward secret places
Then denied my tears in the marketplace
And denied the tears of others.
Nobody cared.
But You knew me.
Beyond reason or thought, You knew me,
And You called me to come down.
So I came.
Scribble, scrabble,
There are splinters in my hands!
(And I do not even care)
For you desire to come
To the ramshackle shack of my wracking
To grace with Yourself the empty places,
Enclosed in my hollow mansion.
Known at last,
I do not need these things!
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