Grace - In the eyes of my verse

Death comes in division
A soul in white
Brings gifts and moaners
In them love shines
The division grows
To it's tragic end

I'm married to this
division
I may be the priest
A constant that is
dead
In me I wonder
How and why I couldn't
remain one in my
own grace in time
and pluck the death out of my verse
to me to see