He calls.

It's a battle of our minds and our actions
Not mindful of foregone reactions
The third law applies to science and defiance
Reliance on ourselves, compliance with the smells, the looks, the feels, the appeals that steal our love.
Lowercase "L" because it less applies to Heaven than it does to Hell.
The pastors who preach and the fathers who teach fall back on a common speech:
Moderation in everything.
But, of course, this falls on deaf ears and these words tend to turn to fears to the millions of prodigals who drink tainted water that isn't even close to potable
it's poison - filled with sin
and delicious, a dish of burned out wishes for a people with torn out stitches
which once closed their wounded pride but now gush streams of rebelliousness and selfishness.
And I'm done going with that flow.
It's an undertow.
A current of so-called fun that leaves me feeling less alive and more like my feet have kicked the box I've stood on, leaving my body hung on the tree of iniquity.
He cuts that cord.
He fills that void with Love.
Capital "L" - the kind that drives you up to a mountain to yell of His graces and mercies
Flowing around and through, blowing in a hurricane of utter silence and peace - the kind only achieved when a blinded soul has been released.
Freedom is one thing. But I gladly shackle myself to this Love.
A bond servant of Christ, it won't always be sugar, spice, and everything nice.
It's much, much better.
Like when you open up that long overdue letter.
He turns "better" to "best" and lest you think that's all
He's already taken the fall.
He's destroyed every wall.
And from every corner of every long-lost soul,
He calls.