Purpose

A purposeful poem.

Our purpose was torn like,
Buttons from a vest.
A beautiful garment,
To be worn upon the breast.

Loathing the offense of,
Incongruity with perfectness,
Laid aside was man,
In his unholiness.

First sadness then anger, but
Without trespass He gave.
Evil it was under the,
Law in those days.

Regarded as worth,
For us redemption and rebirth,
Finished He the law,
As grace filled the earth.

Gathered, taken up, and
Woven together again,
We are sent out,
To find more pieces for Him.

That Christ may weave and
Make whole from death,
Shattered lives,
Full of emptiness.


-Deep calleth unto deep,
bladeofzion