Power?
From my hands come the works of others,
Multiplied through me,
So I have none.
I do not want power
As the moment I feel strength,
I keel over and lose all control.
Let me sit in my weakness,
For there, true strength lies.
Alas, power is the enemy of faith.
Comfort?
I scoff at comfort.
Let life bring challenges and suffering,
Where I must endure with gratitude,
To mold my character,
Like a sharp sword,
That slices through and shapes my heart,
To reveal hope.
Yes, comfort is the enemy of hope.
Significance?
I have had riches galore,
The admiration of the world,
Fame and fortune abounding,
But when I look back,
The only things I have kept,
Are the memories of giving,
When my abundance poured over into the lives of others,
The times I sacrificed what I might gain,
For the well being of another,
Purely for the sake of love.
And when I have loved,
I have been filled with love.
Yes, let me be last,
Of little significance,
Serving in secrecy,
With love.