Grace

I am a prison.
I am only a wall without windows or doorway,
I’m only bricks overgrown with dead lichen,
I am a cold, a want, and a moaning,
I’m an eternal night, eternal roaming
In my own deserts, where the cruel sun of sin
Exhausts the remnants of the good in me.

I am a judge.
I have sentenced myself to die on a tree of despair.
I’m that tree, I’m that condemned who’d die.
I’m the fire and ash; I am the living coal of guilt,
I am the gate to my own hell.  But I would never be
Neither Compassion nor Forgiveness.

And You are Grace.
You are pure love, Love, LOVE . . .
Glaring brighter than a thousand suns
You melt my sins easier than the warmth melts snow.
Ignoring my reluctance, You destroy my walls.
You take me off my tree.
You set me free from sin.
You free me from myself.