Whirlwind

"It's life," they say, "So bittersweet."
But what is this life?
We look, so we inquire.
We're intrigued, then we're tempted.
We live. And then we die.
We walk in circles.
We search; we never find.
Pessimist, you say?
This world holds nothing for me.
It's beautiful, this tragedy of
Perfection put to shame.
Love is life, and God is love-
but it's the enemy held in high esteem.
We reject what we know
and the color ceases.
Oh, how the eye deceives.
And really
what am i saying?
My concerns are simply gibberish.
My regards may be thoroughly irrelevant.
I long to only say what is right.
But how can anything be right
when these words come from the flesh?
Sin is death, and our flesh is sin-
but it is only ourselves we seem to crave.
We define ourselves with tragedy.
We cling to every ounce of
self pity that resides in our bones.
We hide behind our cynicism
and our barriers are our "strength."
We long, we lust, we need, we want.
The tie is severed and
the gap is endless.
The poison is in our reach
and we're vying for a taste.
Consequences are no longer just...
and discontent is our new disposition.
I understand, I've lost you,
my thoughts leave a trend of inconsistency.
I assure you, my peace is only this:
I'm defined by my deliverer,
I've been clothed in grace.
His blood vindicated me of this long ago.