Poetry, When You Pray

You Shall Be Eaten by the Sword

What is that old

Joke

I tell in my

Bed

At night

When

My heart has

Trampled

God and my

Mind

Is collated and filed,

Stark

White with fear the

Lord

Has never lent

Me

And I never did

return?

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Killing pride.

My god is me.

I’ve never had a hard time loving myself.

And hating myself.

And focusing on myself.

It’s the sin of pride. Of utter disillusionment.

And it’s all over Twitter.

It’s all over the world.

Our fear is tricky.

It has a way of coiling, snake-like into our knees and elbows.

It becomes us.

And we play victim to it.

Sometimes, master.

But then for a few of us,

there’s that moment we give it up.

We exchange the world for the One

who created it.

And we’re left with fresh eyes,

Old lens and retina scalpeled

and peeled, soaking in a hot-white

reality where truth is buried deep

and lies are swallowed whole.

We are new.

Fresh.

But the stink

can still seep into

the pores.

There’s always

a stalking, walking

lion,

ready to devour.

But then again,

there’s also the

hopefully-winged

beating of our

hearts.

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All the thoughts in my head.

Last week I started getting panic attacks again.

An all out black fear that wouldn’t let me breathe.

It tried to convince me God doesn’t exist.

And I was choking on that lie, that misguided belief.

Before Jesus, I pretty much ascribed to the theory that my mind was dented sometime during the manufacturing process and all of my thoughts were simply the result of an imperfect production process.

I think differently now.

Sometimes I’ll be thinking something and it’s woven into something darker and larger than myself which facilitates such a deep fear that I know didn’t do this all on my own.

I’m not that talented.

I know I had help.

The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God.” (2 Corinthians 4:4)

And I think sometimes Satan still roams, preys on those whose eyes are finally open and now live with the deepest faith. 

On the intuitive ones who have known him for the longest time.

I mean, wouldn’t you want back what you were once convinced was yours to keep?

How easy to take a mind, to snatch at what God has created and render it fruitless.

But how easy to know and love a God who’s never really let it go in the first place.


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