to the King

Running. Running fast. Faster. The king has called me. I shall not delay.
He has chosen me. I cannot tarry. For some things, which once I loved;
now I hate. The former things have been remade. The spirit has changed.
The flesh still wars. One battle won. One only beginning. The world is changing.
I see it everyday. The waves always rippling. THe clouds no longer seeing their
reflection. Creatures of the deep rising to the surface. THe world is no longer
as it once was. And so I run. Alone. Ever so alone, yet ever so surrounded by
that which hunts me. Evil lurks at the door of my soul. Waiting. Patiently waiting.
I am desperate for something. I know not what. What can I do but run? Where
can I go but the king's presence? I am unworthy. Such greatness is too wonderful
for me. It is high. I cannot attain it. By what magic or sorcery have the lots
been cast in my favor? There are few chosen to be his sons, and I am the least
of them. I run. Not with pride. Not for glory. Not by riches. I no longer run at all.
Rather, I soar on the wings of love. ON the back of grace. I have struck no
bargain with the king, for I have nothing to offer. I offer only the nothing that
I am. And in return, I ask for everything he is. This offer I have made to the king.
He has accepted.