WORLD WAR ME

It won’t happen in a church
under a preacher’s omniscient smile,
my soul parachuting off a Bible,
stumbling, rather than leaping,
for faith.

It’ll be a battle, hard-fought,
with questions barking like gunfire
and answers like bullet wounds.

World War Me.

Bombs will drop out of the sky,
and mushroom clouds will burn away
the walls protecting
the human being within.

There will be wounded,
but only my blood
will be spilled.

I’ll be taken prisoner;
starved on truth;
tortured with self-inflicted
salvation.

Happy to serve, I won’t bother to pray.
“Praise Jesus!” will never come to mind.

My biggest enemy
won't be an army of sins.

In the end, it’ll just come down
to my mirror
and I.

World War Me.

The countdown begins.