I am not a temporary home,
or just a pit-stop for the Lord.
I don’t have to “catch the wave”,
as he passes by.
I am his permanent sanctuary.
He bought me to live inside.
* * *
He paid an obnoxious price,
for my graffiti-ridden, weathered homestead.
My foes told him that’d he be better off to burn his wallet,
than to buy my house which couldn’t even shelter the homeless.
They accused him of ignorance,
insanity and carelessness.
He sold all of his possessions,
and spent every minute of his time,
building his new palace, out of all my broken pieces.
He refused to believe,
that my worth was predetermined,
by the little cardboard sign,
that was posted on my curbside,
and read “FREE- abandoned”.
Its now impossible to believe,
that I was the eye-sore on the street,
but because of his crafters hands,
my house stands mighty and most-grand.