In the velvet hush of midnight’s veil,
the devil slips in, wearing your face,
whispers low “How are you, really?”
while sharpening claws on every ache.
He traces the cracks where confidence broke, paints your failures in neon regret,
unspools old wounds till the shadows choke “See? You’re too weak. You’ll never forget.” He dangles the mirror of what you’re not, inflates every fear till it bloats like a storm, then smiles with teeth that gleam cold and sharp “You’re alone. Unlovable. Broken. Reform?”
Yet light cuts the dark when a still voice calls; not thunder, not rage, but a Father’s calm plea “My child, I see every scar, every fall; bring them to Me… I will carry thee.”
The devil recoils from that holy name,
his venom turns vapor, his lies turn to dust.
For God doesn’t mock the wounds or the shame; He binds them with mercy, in grace He rebuilds trust. So when the old serpent slithers near, cooing “How are you?” in honeyed deceit, lift up your eyes, let the Savior draw near. In God’s mighty armor, the darkness retreats. You are not your pain. You are not your past. You are held, beloved, and fiercely fought for. The devil may prowl, but his reign never lasts. Turn to the Cross and the battle is won.
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