The World

We walk these crooked streets

Watching thick, throbbing veins pump black ooze

Throughout our tiny world like drainpipes.

They infect people, houses, even churches.

The symptoms of this disease?

Loss of sight and loss of life.

They stumble around unable to see the truth

Sometimes tripping over the obtrusive veins.

They shout at us thinking we are the fools,

Thinking we are the problem.

They think that we dim their colours

And spoil the celebration of darkness.

The finger, smeared with black, is pointed at us.

We are not blinded, and we have the remedy

But in this life, our colours attract a curse.

We mourn at the state of the world

And cry out for them to accept the cure

For we cannot give unless they receive.

It hurts to watch those we love joy in the darkness.

They dance and smile in victory,

They laugh and shake their ashen fists at the sky.

Revelling in rebellion, they display their “progress”

Upholding the children they murdered,

The rejection of His creation, love and hate and darkness.

In their minds, they have broken free old of chains and hindrances,

Little do they know that inky ropes still hold them.

They think that somehow, they can thwart the King.

They imagine him pacing his throne room,

His forehead creased, biting his nails.

And yet...

Even as we despair and weep at the world

When we stumble over the black veins in our path,

He is not afraid; He does not worry.

Our King is enthroned in heaven.

His sword is in his hand and

his horses paw the ground.

His crown is stable,

No longer their crown of thorns.

The victory banners are raised,

The battle is won.

His laughter echoes in the heavens,

Rattling their feeble minds,

Encouraging ours.

He sees and He knows.

And He is coming.