A poem about carnal Christianity and eternal security.

Christen the walls of a brand new home,

only to never live there.

It is good enough to know you own it,

so you never split hairs.

Born into a slum, this world is all too familiar.

To let others know your wealth,

makes you-

Peculiar.

This home inherited would bring a stark difference.

Pristine amenities, loving neighbors, and

the slum’s offensive.

None else should be expected, you are no longer who they know.

The slums would try to dig your grave,

however, only they descend below.

So christen the walls of your brand-new home,

Before the rot can eat it.

Still yet the Testator had left a fund,

so the foundation remains concreted.

Therefore if you let the slums prevail,

The frame will break.

The shingles fall.

The windows fail.

The Earth will shake.

Yet.

The value will not depreciate.

Because the true value is in the foundation,

Which is rebuilt on, grander than before.

So christen the walls of your brand new home.