Battered by wild winds,

And no wind with its own forceful blast,

Where there’s faith there’s an inevitable, far from enviable, saved sinner pursued by fire.

This Holy Wilderness is no desert.

It’s trauma stumbling to keep the lantern lit in the dark.

Truth isn’t ignorable art for walls, it’s the foundation of them.

Just as Bandaids don’t fix broken bones,

The past has to be talked through,

Not buried in the floors on the advice of those whose houses are made of glass.

While the bullseye on my chest seeks to feast on what’s left of the heart,

The real poison is the merciless celebrating of those who first pulled the trigger with their soul-destroying disregard.

Claims that care nothing for context are hostile, not just hideous or dishonest.

It’s an obvious awakening of the wolves within;

Fangs hidden behind charm, all protected by a “don’t be good, be loved” false calm.

The only observers are its victims, silenced and sold out to save the face of religious pleasantries.

Don’t call out the charisma, it’s hindering the “anointing”;

So says the narcissist’s tools who’ve donned the hat of the fool.

Post Modern pastors caressing cover-ups that parade the real villain as victim, hero and saviour.

All deny the evidence provided to them by pattern, impact, and behaviour.

They say they don’t care about “wrongdoing, we’re simply all about love,”

Then point, laugh and wave at you their hypocritical finger.

They’ll say there’s been an attempt at dialogue, and twist carefully selected facts.

Those that don’t fit the “you do you” agenda.

Though healthy people will seek repair,

They’ll be cast as troublemakers because the hidden ultimatum is ultimately ungodly surrender.

The gullible, and post modern proxies will beat  “repent” into dissent,

All while mocking the broken-hearted man’s evidence-based lament.

With batten and bible in hand, they’ll slander him until bloodied while hiding sanctimonious glee,

Thinking they’ve served up “justice” to the designated enemy.

The only thread left to hang on is the one they want to hang him from.

For the bruised, the abused and the stolen,

The one sharp relief is remembering that God tells those whom He calls sons: to be set apart is to be set upon.