Poetry

---

The smoke is rising now
And as it rises a gentle wind begins
To blow it across the battle-scarred field
Evil was vanquished here
But who was the mighty one responsible?
Now there is only silence
And the faint echo of a battle bravely fought

Suddenly something moves
Perhaps a shadow or your imagination
But then the shadow takes shape
Beginning to move slowly through the rising smoke
It’s a man...unsteady and stumbling on battle-weary legs
Fatigue and pain etched on every line of his face
Suddenly you notice that all of heaven
Stands silent before him
Every angel offering honor
To this solitary figure

Who is this Victor?
This soldier before whom
Satan fled in fear
What great deed was done
That commanded such heavenly respect?
What manner of “stone”
Felled the Goliath of Evil?

It was simply the faithful prayer of an adopted orphan
Against this unlikely leader
Hell had no defense
Before this weary warrior
Hell’s rusty gates fell in ruins


For it is on the shoulders of soldiers such as these
That the fate of the kingdom lies
Humble heroes who know that they
Never stand as tall as when they are on their knees

These are the quiet conquerors
The obedient subjects of a benevolent King
The lost and the least of the kingdom
The repentant children of an amazing grace

It is before these “Carpenter’s Apprentices” that hell quakes
For it is not the proud and mighty warrior
But the humble and persistent pray-er
Not a Saul…but a David
That the King will call upon to do battle
With the “Prince of this world”

It will be he who would call himself the “least”
Who will bring to ruin He who would call himself the “greatest”

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE