In Death I Speak
By Mark Edgemon

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In Death I Speak
By Mark Edgemon

I've prayed unto myself in a vicious cycle,
With no hope of answer, no touch, no word,
Save the sound of my own voice...desolate!

I cried with my whole being to find my soul forsaken.
It is my desperation...it is my end; today I fall,
Wounded from hard fought battles, weakened by fear!

The place of my supplication; a watery grave,
Drowning in my tears, my strength has failed.
I wait for the enemy to feast on what I once was!

And with all my might, I prostrated myself before God,
Now vulnerable and dead to self; the smallest light,
The stillest voice, a whispering hope...a chance!

The army of fear, beckoned me to dare and with little remaining,
I took a single step...I dared! The demons before my face, knelt.
With renewed yet small strength, I took another step, they moved aside!

Warriors summoned, but not by my voice; stood with me, weapons in array.
Revenues gathered from impossible sources and then I heard Him whisper.
The enemies fell, one after another; clearing my path as I walked!

Once more, I approached my calling, still weak in body,
But held up by stronger Hands than mine, I found power,
As I walked forward in my death, He conquers through me!

The End

Go on to next poem by Mark Edgemon: Indecisively Certain
Return to: The Works of Mark Edgemon