Untitled poem


The blots of ink from raindrops run grey the black and white
So lost inside the chaos pointing fingers all in fright.
Bands of unity in one, no longer in a line.
Divided are the very hearts morale once defined.
What was wrong is not a right
A right is now what's wrong.
There's a race of finding justice
where all consequence is gone.
Alas this parchment paper is thinning day by day
from constant friction of rewording everything we say.
Life is now the great debate
on every body's tongue.
The sands of time are counting
strands of prophecy undone.
Inch by inch we're moving further from the light
to where all life grows weary, blinded by the night.
Victims pointing fingers each and every way
looking for their power as grain falls upon grain.
If all the pointing fingers should fall upon their knees
they'd see the ones their pointing at are not the enemy.
Divided hearts distracted, strategic, easy prey.
Revelation swarming, time quickly slips away.
True identity, true success 
measured not by worldly gain
but weighed and defined by the truth
where your heart and passion lay.  


 But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.“Once you had no identity as a people; now you are God’s people. Once you received no mercy; now you have received God’s mercy.” Dear friends, I warn you as “temporary residents and foreigners” to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against your very souls. 1 Peter 2:9-11





 


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