"Rags to riches"

RAGS TO RICHES

Oh spinning world
neither as the flower
nor like the grass
how you spin and toil.
In how many instances
your garment you have shed.
Each suceeding thought more extravagant
to your fanciful deceiving pride.
Fantasy wanton celebrated to your glory.
Babel's pedestal still grows taller,
and the ascension to your altar
is upon filthy clothes once flaunted

A heart caped in a robe of stone.
A granite body foolishly adorned.
So difficult is your path of mire,
and how the weeds you do tread
cling to your finely woven fabric.
Upon the narrowing road's fork
is natural beauty exceedingly wonderful,
but the wider path of rebellion
the envy of your covetousness.
Apparelled in your mind of debasement.
With harlotry leading you astray,
and cloaked in the conceitedness of your raiment
you mirrored in the fires of hell,
till even your nakedness was consumed.

With the words of your mouth,
stitched by the needle therein contained,
you sought to don the tear.
And blasphemy like a patch
concealed the ugliness of the rip.
Sewn of lies and false wisdom,
once glorious and magnificent,
the cover of God's holiness
resembled the rags of Rahab's quilt.
Your rest in which you took.
But now I lay me down to sleep
upon white linen of silky thread.
Wrapped in the warmth of my comforter,
tailored by the hand of truth.
Embroider with the Word,
fashioned by the Son of God.