The rout


Light rips into the scene.
Tearing limbs wreaking havoc.
But it came from inside me.
Daylight is doing its work and darkness is laid out in disarray, as battle becomes rout.
Still last ditch resistance blazes away aiming at my head but I take a vicious hold on the very lines there’re spinning, pulling them from their grasps. I’m making my failure a weapon now.
Though it hurts like hell I swing and gash, cutting the last hooks in myself free and fetching the enemy a wound it will remember as it stumbles in retreat.

I’m naked and bleeding but burning power like a furnace is keeping me standing.
The Spirit Life is settling back into my form, reclaiming his position that once seemed lost.
The light of day burns its healing balm on a body that will always bear the scars of defeat.
But I wear them as trophies.
I am placed into victory once again breathing deeply the life of God.