Worth (a poem)

Of what more worth are we than dirt,
with vain ambitions nigh?
Crawling up on spindly legs,
to gaze upon the sky.

Though filled with breath, of dust we’re made,
within a moment gone.
A rush to find our purpose here,
while dying all along.

Fist raised high, we malign our fate,
as life goes storming past.
Believing that our circumstance,
has happened but by chance.

With this perspective people find,
our worth is hard to see.
Nothing great have I to give,
what can my value be?

The world was created not to show,
just how small we are,
but to what lengths our God will go,
how deep and wide and far.

Our worth it comes from Him alone,
in flesh He made it clear.
He’s willing to do anything,
to prove that you are dear.  

~ elr