Poetry

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She lay wounded and bruised on her King-size bed,
staring at flickering shadows
twirling on the white plaster ceiling.
The hypnotic sway of the ancient fan
cooled a dank sweat
exposed on trembling limbs.
A sigh rose and ricocheted off four blue walls.

She needed quiet tonight.

It was easy to forget pain when swept under the blanket of recovery.
Sorrow disappeared when wrapped in hope, and sealed in its own black box.

She hadn’t seen him coming this time –
she never did.
The smile … the malice …
the evil satisfaction,
his malevolent eyes revealing no soul.
Dead eyes.

It had to stop … it just had to.

‘Help me,’ cried her battered heart as she moaned to her feet.
Streaks of light splayed across the wooden floor,
reaching from beneath closet doors,
touching reluctant toes.
She bent down in curious wonder
and crawled to its source …
fingering the warmth of each ray.

Brilliance struck a blow,
knocking the breath from her body,
saturating flesh to the bone.
Neglected garments shimmered and shook,
beckoning
to release their power.

A belt of gold threads caught her attention.

Truth girded her loins,
now surging with strength
as she tugged at its buckle
for a snug fit.

Righteousness etched
by Innocent Blood,
crested the breastplate
molded to her chest.

Each foot slipped into
the Gospel of Peace,
ready to stand
on their solid foundation.

Blessed assurance
gripped a hold of her spirit,
the moment she lifted
Salvation’s Helmet.

A canopy of dust,
lighted upon,
the Shield of Faith
on the closet floor.

Stealth wafted across her back, chills pricked her skin.
Arrows of flames flashed by to the right … to the left!
She snatched up the Shield and turned!

Lucifer.
The smile … the malice …
the evil satisfaction,
malevolent eyes revealing no soul.
Dead eyes.

She stood armed, strong and ready – one last weapon to reach!

Flames met their death as she lunged for the Sword
on the table by her bed.
Lifting It high she proclaimed with a shout!
‘In the name of Jesus Christ …
I command you to go defeated!

He shrieked and cowered, and fled in terror!
Hideous howls piercing the night.

Not a tremor she felt, not a fear arose,
in the Presence of her Lord.
His smile … the kindness …
His Gracious approval;
warm eyes revealing His love.
Loving eyes.

At the hem of His Glory laid her bruises and wounds,
clothed in her Helmet and Shield.
Tears fell upon
the Sword of the Spirit
embraced upon her soul.

Words flowed and rained afresh, washing the sweat from her brow …

‘Well done My child! Stand firm in My Strength
and in My Mighty Power.
Wear these garments gifted to you,
by the hands of My Beloved –
by the Blood of My only Son.

Victory is yours dear one … wear it always.’







Based on Ephesians 6:10-18








Pat Guy
©2006
[email protected]

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