A poem the Lord provoked me to write when I was starting to slip into a pity-party over Christmas -
Why does the warrior give ground?
Head my voice at once my soldier
Your decisions here can hold their forces at bay
Pull up the drawbridge - Keep the portcullis down!
Remember you are an agent of the Lord
Though you had learnt the customs
And your accent is sublime
You will always be mine
Kneel and be at peace
Do not give in to them
- let the poison be released
You know this is not your home
You're my worker here
- my hands and my feet
Not one of six billion cases of Stockholm Syndrome
Each adoring their captors and their false thrones
There's not just a lamb but a lion in you!
Don't let the devourer fool you into feeling blue
Its a slippery slide of deception bitterness and lies
Remember I choose your hardships
But you can decide on your moods and your attitudes
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