Exile’s Cry

Give me liberty or give me death,

I spoke with fire in my breath.

They said I was unfit for their holy halls,

but the God I met in the desert still calls.

They left me exiled, stripped of my name,

banned and branded with lasting shame.

“Leave or be shackled, leave or be tried—”

yet inside my chest, His Spirit replied.

I attest, this weight was duress,

they pressed my soul into distress.

My lungs drew air to voice my pain,

a dream of nursing slipped in vain.

Cursed by decree, I wept in despair,

counting the years with no repair.

Where do I go? What will I do?

Is there still purpose for someone like me, too?

I am not broken, though cast aside,

for in my exile, His call abides.

The halls may reject, the world may condemn,

but the desert still blooms when I walk with Him.