The Little Elf

Mischievous, the little one -
the selfish, little elf -
the one who looks and listens for
the things which help himself.

Though brilliant colors are defined,
I'm blind and cannot see.
Since birth my world was always dark.
I ask myself, "Why me?"

My doctor says there is no hope.
No music will there be.
My world is quiet. I can't hear.
I ask myself, "Why me?"

I've worked my fingers to the bone.
I've paid each tax and fee.
But now the banks are taking all.
I ask myself, "Why me?"

My teachers say I'm special.
My friends and all agree.
Then mom tells me to make my bed.
I ask myself, "Why me?"

He fell to knees most fervently -
the place? Gethsemane.
Though God did not 'remove His cup',
did Jesus ask, "Why me?"

So lazy, greedy, prideful, vain -
oh, how can I complain?
My prayers are simply mockeries
if I know not His pain.

Pain that He endures each time
that I think of myself -
for He's the Master Teacher - and
I'm the little 'elf'...

This poem won first place for the November 2012 poetry contest