"Lean Thine Ear O Lord"

How come poeticism can't go over music?
I sit here frustrated with hip-hop beats boxing in my head,

It's not fair Lord that I can't spit Your word into a microphone within a padded booth,
Noise being blocked out by studio headphones.

Lord I don't want glamor or fame,
I even hid my name in a just in case fashion so they'd know You're not old fashioned,

So they know my poems phloem goes down to the roots of where it all started,
Where David first seeked Your heart,

Where Solomon climbed into a situation that he couldn't have imagined would have lasted eternity,
Yet the intimacy he spit watered a seed which sprouted into a biblical floetry,

Causing youth from futures unknown to kneel at Your feet with passions similar,
The only thing different now is my vernacular.

No more "thees" and "thous" or "bosoms" and "gardens",
but vocabulary with a lisp that forms even broader horizons.

It's our gift and curse of knowledge that accents our expression,
and it causes me to endure and expand further on this art of a poet's worship.

Even though the worship of the musician has grown so public now,
And honestly I desire to be apart of the powerful glow that comes in the form of blowing eardrums out...

See, a poet's worship gets drowned out by the drummed up guitar keys,
or the Pro-tools that blast out orchestrated auto-tuned beats,

And it's all because of the strings of an instrument or computer...
They cause my worshiping cords to strain and snap trying to match up with the glorification that they seem to give You.

See Lord, it's the poets heart that causes the vibrations that form this sound,
And yes I know You can see that but tell me how does that help everyone else out?,

You know I'd love to have international ears like The Breax, Theory and Lecrae,
not that I envy Your blessing to them it's only my desire that I feel will bring more demand on people to do things like Yahweh.

Well I desire that until You rebuke the storm after seeing my desire to give You praise,
At the same time convicting me with Paul's words reminding me that Your ways are not my ways.

Well Lord,
here I stand,

On the platform formulated for the worship given by the least heard,
but used in a mighty way simply because You made it apart of Your word,

And I will work overtime to ship this glorification to all ears,
because, thanks to You, a poet's worship is all I have to give.