save my life. lose it.

The past is spent; a vivid memory grows dimmer daily. My regrets are increasingly regrettable, cemented in the sea of time.

They are unable to be altered, only dreamed differently.

My former self offers no hope, so I run away with every breath,

attempting to seek refuge in the present.

 

Oh, but the present is a fickle thing; I will find no safety here.

For now is but an instant and like that, it becomes then.

Who I am in this fleeting moment is but an amalgam of the era I despise.

How I long for something else, anything else but the person I am today.

I will invest my hope in the future, for I can mold myself into the man I want to become.

 

Time is a jester who derives pleasure from pain, but the joke is on me.

The future is but a mirage, a bleak reflection of the present.

The person I want to be is inescapably built upon who I am today,

but who I am today is liquid, with every new piece of information and encounter I revise.

As I inch toward the man I want to be, he disappoints me,

for he is a familiar stranger, whom I hate.

 

Woe is me, for I have built my life on the shifting sand of opinion.

In this static life I maintained one constant;

“There is no God“ has been my maxim.

It is clear now where I have erred; I have served a god all along.

I see him now, in the mirror.

 

I must lose my life, that I may find it.

 

The dead man I once was, seizes me from the grave, trying to shackle me with broken chains.

“You hero of sin, glory in your revelry, return to your debauchery,” he desperately pleads.

Oh, but that old man is gone; behold the new is here.

The past has been crucified; my former joys pale in comparison to the inexhaustible bliss of Christ.

My regrets redeemed, now swallowed up in a sea of infinite grace.

I press on to take hold of Him, who first took hold of me.

 

A lump of clay, once used ignobly, has been fashioned into a vessel of mercy,

a tangible witness to the existence of an incorporeal Savior.

My present, now an unmarked canvas ready to be painted by His Holy Breath

into an image in His likeness.

To deny myself is a glorious joy, for my identity has been buried with Christ, so that I may be raised with Him also.

 

Time is an obstruction, the manacle that holds me from eternity.

Death is inevitable, a broad sword that cuts us all; to die is gain.

But the life I now live in the flesh requires death all the more; to live is Christ.

Die for the world I love to hate, live for the world I hate to love.

 

So my hope is built upon the only eternal constant,

the rock of my salvation,

the immovable mover,

the infinite paradox.

The heavens are His home and I, His bondservant.

The God that I serve is not made in my likeness, but it is I who bear His.

 

I have lost my life and traded it for something immeasurably better, Him.