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Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2036431
My testimony.
Sometimes I'd hide and pray to God,
Please, Lord, let me know if you're real.
Whatever it takes don't shun me,
Because I don't know how to feel.

I couldn't see, touch or feel him,
So I went drinkin' and dancin'.
That was the way I spent my youth,
Chasing the women and smokin'.

One day, while chatting with a girl,
The occult became the topic.
I told of an old Ouija board,
My critical thoughts myopic.

"That's nothing," she said with a grin,
"My friends conjured up a demon.
It's face burned into the curtains,
When I was blessed by a deacon."

I couldn't believe what I heard!
Yet she spoke so matter of fact.
The things she spoke of convinced me,
This had to be some kind of act.

She did agree to describe it,
Since drawing was a skill of mine.
It had a lion's head, goat's eyes
As if horns, locks of hair entwined.

I looked at it and felt as if,
It were looking right back at me.
A wicked knot in my gut grew,
In despair, I wanted to flee.

For a solid week, I, in fear,
Would tremble as if being stalked,
Fearful to tell anybody,
Afraid and shy of being mocked.

On the fifth day of my ordeal,
Weary weak from lack of resting,
A Southern Baptist friend of mine,
Shared the Lord Jesus' blessing.

I felt a rush, as if water,
Through my body, torrents did pour,
Every since then I've known my God,
He cleansed my soul forevermore.
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