There are times when a man hates himself;

Not on account of any physical attributes,

Personal skills, or lack thereof,

But when a man opens his eyes to his inner self,

And sees sin infesting his entire being,

He knows that he is all too human,

Prone to lie, to envy, to forget his first Love,

He is but a worm, writhing in the enclosures of

A dark and small world, wretchedly blind...

There are times when a man knows himself;

Therefore, he hates himself;

He longs to be more than what he is,

More than what he has become;

The sin that he hates, he harbors in his heart,

And it tears at his mind, creating havoc...

His stifled cries merely resonate in his own ears,

He is both witness and victim

Of his own demented sorrow, utterly alone...

There comes a time when a man desires more;

No longer for worthless distractions

That only corrupt him further,

But for things of unimaginable beauty,

For a peace that transcends the corruption

That he is a part of, maddeningly impotent...

There is a time to which a man’s rancid eyes

Can look to for hope...for peace;

A time that is forever engraved upon

The eyes of heaven,

A time in which the grotesque face of sin

had been revealed for what it is,

and crushed for what it had done...

A man need only gaze upon

The old, rugged tree of Life,

He need only come to

The old, rugged tree of Life,

And find salvation from

his cursed corruption, eternally forgiven.