The Blessed Man

The blessed man he asks himself,
“Who am I meant to be?”
The people come they praise his words,
But him they cannot see.

Am I for real? Am I a fraud?
Am I the one they see?
The blessed man he just stands tall
And sturdy like a tree.

And then he tries to answer well
The question phrased so plain.
The blessed man has no response,
Which amplifies his pain.

Then in his tears and solitude
He sees a shining light,
Which heals his heart, soothes his pain
And tells him he’s alright.

The blessed man he understands
That all the way he’s come,
Was just a way for him to know
His service to the One.

So now he sees with clarity
The path he chose to trod,
Was merely a book wherein is written:
You are a servant of God.