The Demonic
There were spirits causing physical and psychic torment.
They were in their surroundings, like moisture were in the breeze
There was a man, with legions of demons. Graves were his tents.
Each moment of his life was like flesh with thorns of unease.
They seized him in his crocodile hold. He could not escape.
Tearing his body and hurting himself had become fun.
In the image of God, he was made. But, he lost his shape.
To protect him from his self-hatred, there was no human
Love, like that of a mother's for her child, sprang from Jesus.
His power over good and evil rose like a command.
Come out, Jesus said. Within, the man faced a grave morass.
They had to obey. They knew if they refused, they'd be damned.
Chains of confines were broken, and the demonic felt free.
Jesus sent him home to tell them of the divine decree.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
