Dark Purple Balloon
The balloon that floats
In the sky, up into the
Stratosphere, is too far
For even your high
Horse to reach.
In the dark purple balloon,
Faded papers that ink
Bleeds through, are the
Written versions of your
Lack of faith in me
Helium sphere, out of
Reach, will touch heaven
Above, and our Maker will
Read of you from my balloon,
And reach out his hand
The balloon forgotten,
Manipulated into truth,
You use the Maker’s hand
To point a finger at me, retell
Your low expectations
And I will cry, “Oh
Why?” You will answer
For our Maker, you will use
Him to pop my balloons, make
Me ask, “Am I good enough?”
High
In the sky, up into the
Stratosphere, is too far
For even your high
Horse to reach.
In the dark purple balloon,
On
Faded papers that ink
Bleeds through, are the
Written versions of your
Lack of faith in me
Helium sphere, out of
Your
Reach, will touch heaven
Above, and our Maker will
Read of you from my balloon,
And reach out his hand
The balloon forgotten,
Doubts
Manipulated into truth,
You use the Maker’s hand
To point a finger at me, retell
Your low expectations
And I will cry, “Oh
Dear Father,
Why?” You will answer
For our Maker, you will use
Him to pop my balloons, make
Me ask, “Am I good enough?”