Have I gotten too old…or the world too cold? I try to be bold, and be sold on the Gospel’s gold mold.

But faith, hope, and love, from above in the hereof, and unlove thereof, gets rejected and neglected.

Infected with hate, and unabated malice–impossibly calloused in our palaces of spiteful paralysis.

I’m confessing the obsessive depression is too often the victor in repressing progression and propagating regression.

We’re pariahs decrying messiahs of hypocritical theocracies.

We chose to bask in our mask; because if you ask, no one’s up to the task

of weeping with the broken–in selfless acts and words unspoken.

Such behavior we’d favor, but we waiver–craving a savior.

The truth of the situation: I can’t be your salvation.

The foundation reformation, in this Nihilist generation,

comes from a new creation restoration of divine origination.

It starts from inside and coincides with God’s grace supplied:

It casts pride aside, divides die, peace is applied, with like kind designs implied

to be disbursed, unrehearsed, to the worst and besmirched.

I’m a disgrace granted grace, not to efface or misplace, but embrace

this fallen world with its abuses, misuses, excuses.

This world seduces a heart to depart and restart to some base part subpar,

but I’ll rely on the Spirit.

And I’ll endeavor to be better, and whatever

plagues you, or plagues me, I’ll love you, and love me.

In defiance of the harshness, noncompliance to the darkness,

I’ll be with you. Be with me? In the chaos, and the quiet.