The encounter

To think that my flesh and blood is already in heaven,
What a thought,
That to my being eludes,
No other explanation renders me more satisfying,
Than that of my humanity.
It is graced, blessed, honored, and digified,
By him whose death on the cross did not see the face of curruption.
To prove an empty grave,
But what physical proof is this?
Compared to the jewel of that faith,
That beyond any shatttered doubt,
Keeps me running the race.
All because of the Saviour,
Whose ascenion into eternity,
Did not leave behind a speck of that physique,
So as I trod through lifes endless wanders,
That all too soon descend in the bowels of this classic,
My eyes are fixed to that Which I believe.
As I walk to the finish line,
To await this crowning,
Which has become that of mine.