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Poem

You who worship yourself,
listen carefully.
I won’t shout.
I don’t have to.
Truth cuts deeper when it’s whispered.

You raise your hands high,
but not to the God who made you.
You worship the mirror.
You exalt dust.
You crown yourself king over a kingdom made of ashes.

You pray, but only for yourself.
You sing, but only about yourself.
You preach, but only to glorify yourself.
And God the Host of Heaven watches,
silent.
Waiting.

You believe you are something.
But you are a breath He can call back at any moment.
You are dust, arranged for a time,
and soon the dust will claim you again.

You adore a body already sentenced to rot.
You chase a name that the worms will forget.
You build towers of pride,
but one breath from His mouth
and you will crumble into nothing.

Repent.
Before your Me God drags you screaming into the grave.
Repent.
Before the breath you boast in is ripped from your lungs.
Repent.
Before you wake up in eternity and find you were the fool all along.

There is only one throne,
and it does not belong to you.
There is only one King,
and He will not share His glory.

Tear down your altars.
Burn your idols.
Crush the Me God under your feet
or be crushed with it when the day of reckoning comes.

He who exalts himself will be brought low.
But he who humbles himself before the Living God,
he will live.

The time is short.
Choose wisely, my friend.

Amen.

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