Dear Reader,

This poem was written as a standing protest—not of anger, but of allegiance. In an age that calls good evil and evil good, and that listens willingly to the ancient liar dressed as an angel of light, the Cross remains both the indictment and the answer. It does not negotiate with the world. It simply stands, and the grave is empty.

We take our stand with Jesus Christ, knowing He will come again. In the end, Jesus wins. Satan is defeated. The victory is already finished, and the Cross remains.

May it strengthen your own refusal to bow.

— the poet

Isaiah 5:20
Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!

John 8:44
Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.

2 Corinthians 11:14
And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

Galatians 6:14
But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world.

1 Corinthians 15:55–57
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Ephesians 6:13
Wherefore take unto you the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand.

1 Corinthians 16:13
Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.

Romans 1:16 (optional third)
For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.

The Cross stands tall against the falling night,
a splintered beam that will not bend or break.
While kingdoms rise on blood and borrowed light,
it answers every lie the dark can make.

The world parades its polished, smiling gods—
desire crowned, and power set on thrones.
It dresses hate in silk and calls it law,
then wonders why the soul has turned to stone.

Good is named evil, evil dressed as good,
and truth is traded for a brighter lie.
Have we forgotten who the ancient foe is—
the liar, murderer from the first dawn’s cry?

He walks as light, an angel’s borrowed face,
and sells the poison as a healing grace.
Yet wood and nails still name the open wound:
the price of every throne that feeds on men.

The demonic agenda moves in quiet rooms,
in whispered half-truths dressed as common sense.
It multiplies the mirror till we drown,
and sells the drowning as the only fence.

But one rough beam, still planted in the earth,
refuses every bargain with the pit.
It does not negotiate the cost of birth
or trade the Lamb for anything more fit.

Here mercy hangs where justice should have died,
and love outlasts the mockery of the crowd.
The Cross does not explain the evil world;
it simply stands, and will not be bowed.

The Cross remains the protest and the proof—
the grave is empty, and the Lamb is Truth.