Relentless, I hear the sighs.
The “talentless” noticed by nothingness and its endless siren’s cry.
Sinking into the sands of insignificance,
. head lowering with
. a sun and its sinking glow;
. heart being dragged under by the weight of its undertow.
Hear the black dog that snarls and rides with the incoming tide.
See the fight from within.
As the fire of creativity lights up embers,
. and inhaled grace ignites.
For this battle belongs the beat of drums,
. foot soldiers, metaphors, the Rock of offense;
. the white horse, its rider and the march of the Second Adam.
Once more, embroiled in a stand-off with emptiness.
. Once more, engulfed in battle against listlessness.
. Once more, pushing back echoes that drift through the mist of a toxic past.
This battle is fought in the shadows.
Where fists meet walls in nightmares,
and exhausted silence follows.
Each bit of shade.
One more potential mask.
Insincerity and plasticity,
. hiding behind ersatz love, fabricated charity and a pristine facade.
Against which there is no retreat; no slide into the dark,
No giving in to the Black dog, its bite or grave digging bark.
Only complete surrender to the scarred rider on White horse;
The alpha, the omega; the finish and the start.
‘Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.’ (James 4:7. ESV)