Poetry

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THE BATTLEFIELD

The devil and angel took their stand
On Simone, the field of gray.
Only one would walk from this desolate plain
Only one would rule the day.

The devil reeked cocky and confidence
Sad misplaced in the depths of his pride.
But the angel did shine forth
A pure, spotless light
That shone outward through peace from inside.

"I have chained men for decades,
I rule kingdoms with lies,
I make all bow their knee by delusion."

"All have bowed but His own,"
Came the angel's reply.
"Your deceit is your own worst confusion."

They had locked up deep feelings for eons;
Both held back by the Spirit's direction.
Now the enemy chomps at the bit of his evil
Calls the angel for Holy Protection.

The devil swung sword of perversion
As the angel's sword sliced through the air.
The clash of the metal
Could shatter the ear
Of one unaccustomed to warfare.

For hours they struggled
Or was it for years?
It seems time somehow ceased . . . and held fast.
Then at last
Stood archangel
Triumphant and shining
For the battle was now in the past.

"You have lost," cries dear Michael,
"This soul is the Lord's,
He has made his commitment to Him.
And no weapon you form
Against this one shall prosper,
He is Christ bought, forgiven from sin."

"Very well," screeched the devil,
"You have won on this day.
I accept that which I cannot alter.
So I'll go find another
To worsip my ways
And drink sin at my unholy altar."

"Be aware, foolish mortal
If you think you can juggle
Salvation of God like a toy.
For the fires of hell
Wait rejecters of Jesus
Hit your knees, call on Christ, feel His joy."

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