wake up to the sound, of your fleeting heart

i am beginning to believe that we are born to wake up
and those of us who fail to do so
will simply fall into a most certain death
not a physical death so much as
a life death.
an emptiness and
it is heart shattering to hold dear lives that hold to nothing.
sometimes the devil weaves lies into our minds over the course of a day or a week or a summer.
sometimes he shoots them at us from a demon machine gun,
wounding us right wherever we are most vulnerable.
but sometimes,
perhaps the worst times,
he tackles two year old cities and in them he takes goodness and makes it an idol
he takes lust and makes it a practice
he takes truth and makes it a ration,
because all his power witholds is a little room for alterations.
he cannot steal joy
satan cannot steal faith.
And often times we are stripped and stolen of all else so that we will finally
see
that nothing else is as real nor as mandatory
to live these awake sort of lives.

a storm is stirring in the kingdom
and the children sing here on their knees
the demons fret and fear and flee
and holy hands search for the king.