Tags
Christian, hope, Inspirational, jesus, jesus-christ, Poetry, salvation
The world tilts sharp when shadows break open,
files spill like blood from old, sealed wounds—
names, whispers, horrors etched in ink and image,
childhoods stolen, innocence sacrificed on altars
of power, pleasure, and something darker still.
Cannibal whispers in the margins, ancient rites
dressed in modern suits. The stomach drops,
a pit yawns wide, familiar to some who walked
this road years ago, alone in the quiet knowing.
You feel it now—the spin, the sick vertigo
of realizing evil is not rumor, not metaphor,
but flesh and breath and deliberate cruelty.
It is not new. Cain’s hand trembled first;
Molech’s fires burned long before cameras clicked.
Since the garden’s fall, the serpent coils
through every age, wearing crowns, robes, smiles.
Yet here, in the reeling, a fork appears:
despair’s black river, or the narrow path
upward to the One who saw it all before—
who descended into the abyss itself,
carried the weight of every violation,
every tear forced silent, every body broken.
He did not turn away. He entered.
And on the third day, light cracked stone.
So run, dear heart, not from the truth
but through it—toward the steady flame
that no redaction can erase, no name can dim.
Let the heaviness press you lower,
until you find the Rock beneath the quake.
You are not alone in this awakening.
Prayers rise like incense for you,
for the shaken, the grieving, the newly sighted.
Evil roars, but it is wounded, mortal.
Jesus holds the gavel, the throne, the dawn.
Choose light. Speak gospel into the dark.
Live honor where shadows once ruled.
Let faith outlast the fear, hope outshine the pit.
The battle was won on a hill far off;
the echoes now are victory’s aftershocks.
All eyes on Jesus.
The darkness trembles.
The Light remains.
🤍✝️
Passionately Pursuing Christ 