A particle afloat in the ocean of infinity,
Yet, so conscious of self in profuse vanity --
Lofty though his thoughts may be, they're all profanity.
Man is nothing, made of nothing, that's his identity.
Emptiness craves for sensation beyond sanity,
Like a black hole eating anything in its vicinity,
Such is the tale of empty, chaotic, gravity;
Man is nothing, made of nothing, that's his identity.
Lost in a world of baneful, belligerent brevity,
Filled with protests of ignoramus sincerity,
Tossed between lines lacking any clarity,
He lives, dies, and is buried in utter poverty.
________________
The Son of God came down from His celestial city,
He left Heaven and donned the garb of humanity.
He lived, loved, and served in all simplicity,
Then died by the hands of those professing religiosity.
But, He arose the third day, breaking death's jaws of fatality,
Alas, the shame of those who die in their hostility!
For the Son of Man is ascended to the Throne of Supremity --
And all knees will bow before the Name of His Majesty,
Before the One who is given all authority,
Because He stooped down, emptied self and defeated vanity --
God girded His loins to serve sinful humanity!
What is man but a finite speck of futility,
Driven o'er surges, surrounded by fests of calamity;
Unless the Son of God had loved us, we wouldn't have any identity!
"For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brethren." (Romans 8:29)
© Domenic Marbaniang, Oct 25, 2011.
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