iam engaged in spiritual warfare where the welfare of my soul is at stake
everyday is a battle of wits in which i must concentrate
i protect my soul for the sole purpose of it not being sold to the devil
in my affairs he meddles, though i proceed to mettle, for persuasion he deserves a medal
for my soul is mine, i wont relinquish my mind so i mind the ways of the lord
he turns grapes into wine so why should i whine to complain is what i cant afford
iam fortunate enough to have room and board but iam bored with lifes afflictions
ia have a heart felt conviction that iam an addict of dispare, dipictions of my personal addiction
it seems iam billed in payments of sorrow when my circumsatnces build around me
it raises brows as i browse through my past confounded by the grief that bounds me
it pounds me, like the torrential downpour of a mid summer thunderstorm
i can no more discuss the disgust that i feel, i hope God doesnt look at me with scorn