For a whole heart, I would give the life of this world: every moment of monotone emotion felt, every numb pleasure that kills my soul, every restless feeling that eats away inside.
For a whole heart, I would give away all my broken dreams, gathering each piece from it’s scattered place, blown in every direction by the winds of confusion and desire.
For a whole heart, I would give all of my bitter tears, shed from mistaken hurts and affected wrongs, or complexities that I myself constructed.
For a whole heart, I would give my own tongue that speaks ill instead of truth.
I would give my very eyes, that see the night sky in all it’s splendor, and that still choose slumber over vigil.
I would give my soul, troubled and heavy, always foolishly choosing darkness over Light.
But who would accept this currency or this exchange?
I’m just a poor beggar, with nothing to give. Instead, I depend on the compassion of the Owner to fulfill my needs, and be generous with me, though I have nothing to give Him in return; my worthless possessions clutched tight.