My Fuel

Whoa! I take a second look!
I turned my head and eyed -
the sleekness of the sporty lines.
Now that's a fancy ride!

Shiny chrome and glossy wheels,
style, impressive too.
So numerous, the gadgets -
great quality clear through.

The leather seats, the clock and cruise,
the 'cockpit' steals my soul,
the gauges, so exquisite -
I lose all self-control.

The engine starts. It comes to life -
and roars to the extreme.
It sucks the gas from finite tank
in non-stop, steady stream.

My focus and attention,
are drawn by things of men -
which lose me in a cloud of fog,
which seek another sin.

In many ways, we 'sin' in style -
by boat or plane or car.
Though man can reach to moon and Mars,
can only get so far...

There's limits to the spending,
there's limits to the days,
there's limits to the envies of,
man's many sinful ways...

Yet grace, the engine of man's soul -
is ready, always willing.
And God wills that we come to Him -
but gas tank still needs filling.

Just one alone, the fuel is,
if focused we will be.
Though greater is the mustard seed -
faith fuels men, like me.

This poem was a finalist in the July 2011 poetry contest