Christian Poetry: Wounded

A Friday night but Sunday morning; 

an onward soldier dressed for war,

but she found herself in four walls with a disco light at the rooftop.

Her weapon of warfare by the door to the four walls,

while she danced,

danced to the rhythm strange to the oath she swore.

An ambush!

But her weapon was by that door, far from her reach.

Alas! An army general got wounded.

A gunshot to her foot shod with fitted Combat boots from Peace Industries.

So, she laid still, 

hoping the bright red stream would dry up, and for help to come.

Mercy came, not late!

She expected judgement,

but He washed her wound clean.

"Thou the scar remain,

but a message from a mess it will be. 

Don't be ashamed of it!"

ÌYÉTIDÉ