Psalm 71 was a poem that took about a week for me to write. The first half of that week was spent just going over the first few verses over and over, trying to find my rhythm. I didn't type anything on the computer until I had the first eight lines set in my mind.
Once those couple of verses were recorded, the rest of the poem came together rather quickly.
By David, a Psalm sung by the sons of Jonadab,
and the first that were taken captive.
In you, LORD, I seek your protection and refuge;
let shame never fall upon me.
Deliver me justly and let me be rescued;
oh, hear me and set my soul free.
The rock of my refuge, where I can hide always;
my rock, you can save on command.
Deliver me out of the wicked's hand, Yahweh,
the evil, cruel grip of their hand.
For you've been my hope, Sovereign LORD, like no other;
my confidence since I was young.
You've carried me since I was born of my mother;
forever is praise on my tongue.
To many I've been a sad tale that amazes;
but you are my refuge that's strong.
And that's why my mouth is so filled with your praises;
your glory's declared all day long.
Don't cast me aside since I'm older and broken;
don't leave me when I have grown weak.
My foes plot against me and now they have spoken;
my soul is the thing that they seek.
They say, God's forsaken him, be more persistent,
pursue him for he's on his own.
O God, in your mercy, do not be so distant;
come quickly, for I am alone.
Of my enemies, bring disgrace with destruction;
those wishing me harm, bring them shame.
But I will still hope and await your instruction,
continually praising your name.
My mouth will declare of your deeds of salvation,
the sum of which cannot be known.
I'll go in your strength, LORD, and my proclamation
will mention your justice alone.
Since youth, God, you've taught me from earliest stages,
now I tell the world of your ways.
Now, graying and older, at life's final pages,
abandon me not in these days,
till I can declare to the next generation
your power to those yet to come.
Your righteousness reaches the last constellation;
who does, God, the things that you've done?
Misfortunes and troubles, you've put them before me,
and many were bitter and sore;
from deep in the earth you will one day restore me,
and honor my greatness once more.
I'll praise you on harp played with music, rejoicing,
because of your vows are they sung;
my God, with the lyre are the praises I'm voicing,
for you, as they leap from my tongue.
With joy my lips sing for your grace has redeemed me,
my tongue tells your deeds all day long;
you shame those intending to harm and demean me,
disgraced those who'd do me so wrong.