War from the Brimstone
Moments of lost faith taunted me,
As I stood in the brimstone fire,
Gnarled old fingers accusing me,
Of an outcome undesired…
Licking old wounds is Satan's feat-
Destroying my soul, his delight.
Derision of demons meted out…
But not without a fight.
Angels of Mercy now gather in
The battle of Spirits begun-
Camped around my enemies-
They outnumber two to one.
Just a blast from their trumpets,
Just a shout from on high…
And scattered demons run like dogs
No more tricks for them to try…
by Sharon Frye