Spiritual Warfare: The Pain

Upon waking up this morning, this poem came to me. I haven't written poetry in a while, but when inspiration strikes, I run with it. Do you have a poem waiting to be written, at the tip of your tongue?

                        The Pain

If he could be there on the wretched nights

When the Pain stabbed her, first in the flesh, then in the heart,

Intensely rending the very muscles from her bones.

If he could be there to guard and watch with her

To see the campfires of the Pain and his army coming, coming, in the distance

And then go out to fight them, bind them, and cast them out,

While she sought safety inside his tent, under the lamplight,

On her knees, praying, praying, until dawn,

Until the first splendorous rays of the sun broke over the horizon,

Casting every remaining shadow far away.

Then returning and pulling back the canvas door,

He would draw her out into the light and be her healer,

To mend the damage done in the night,

A hand here, a shoulder there, a foot, a knee, an ankle,

To fuse them back together again - the disjointed parts -

And restore her beauty and dignity with his affection.

Behold, a new creation!
If he could be there.

“Oppose, Lord, those who oppose me; war upon those who make war upon me. Take up the shield and buckler; rise up in my defense. Brandish lance and battle-ax against my pursuers. Say to my heart, ‘I am your salvation.'” Psalm 35: 1-3