An army of faults
has laid siege to the vaults
of the treasure paid for with your most blessed blood
which is the one continuous flood
pouring forth in the center of my Eden
watering each thought-seed in
glorious gold
But now the enemy has taken hold
of the gates
wishing to propagate violence
on your beloved
And no fence of my imagination
can hold back lust’s instigation
and gluttony’s sharp spear
carves my longing
from my dear possession of you
And spreads like fear
taken hold of the sheep
amongst whom the wolf creeps
and reaps of the confusion he sowed
But you can bestow knowledge of my foe
your guidance can break my reliance
on the false images and the bastard idols
of this age
And though my deceptive past
accuses me from the stage of my memory,
in your forgiveness is a sweet story of release
from the Pharaoh’s toil
and the deceased pages of twisted intentions
which boil my blood like a ravenous sun
touching my nerves with a fire begun
from the fuel of losing hope
My God I wish not to merely cope, but to conquer.
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