The robe was borrowed,
Stitched to my skin—
I tried to rip it away,
And wear one of my
Own choosing—
Only the thread was
Made of love, giving
Me pain to ultimately
Save me from the folly
Of wearing my own
Righteousness—

It was drenched in the weight
Of waters from free-flowing rivers,
Cut from the beams of an old,
Soulful church, pulling me away
From the temporary things that
Surrounded, and into the presence
Of my benevolent Father.
Let the world fall away
in prayer.

Hunkered down in my heart
Sat a man of love letters,
His flesh tearstained paper,
Scrawled with the pleas
Of His love I so frequently
Ignored, breathing quiet,
Patient as He prayed with
Eyes closed, setting the
Example for the soul who
Would one day sit beside
Him, sharing my heart even
As He remained First, forever
My source of Security,
Peace, and Joy.