The dragons I
once sought to slay
have changed their title,
but not their embrace.
I used to die
for just a taste—
and now I deny myself
to loosen their grip,
so I won’t give in
when I slip.
Their teeth look
different now,
and it’s strange how
they smile at me
the same.
Behind them still burns
a flame—
not a force to tame,
but one to avoid.
Burn the wound,
let it keloid;
try not to
open it again.
The devil’s smooth—
but never my friend.
The pride feels
different now;
it arrives as
righteousness abounds.
Yet it steals my joy—
because it takes away Yours.
Though they did not
die by my sword,
they surround me
no more.
They submit not
to me,
but to the One
I serve;
they quickly flee.
For no beast
can contend
with the mercy
of my Lord.
When they blew
their fire,
it only refined me—
while He restored.
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