in meekness, his soul desired;
in weakness, his flesh retired.
yet so easily, he set his soul on fire,
again succumbing to his fleshly desire,
bogging himself in this swampy mire.
despite the cognizance,
of the need for repentance,
he led a life of reluctance;
one which reeked of repugnance,
one in need of penitence.
he cried out in melancholy.
‘has this pitiful life sated your ennui?
a vile slave that’s chained to iniquity?’
was just another daft futility.
he came to terms with reality.
nothingness breathed into life; created.
to be our own gods; we rebelled.
from dust to dust; we were condemned.
an outpouring of grace; we were saved.
at the end of the pilgrimage of sanctification
lay the casket that ended all persecution
yet this resting place will not be my last;
and this beatific smile will merely be my first.
brought back to life;
we were arraigned.
acquitted of vice;
we were justified.