Blades are sharp, daggers drawn –by wicked kings, you’re their pawn.

Isolation is their bitter aim: to steal your soul, exploit your shame.

They whisper lies as you self-doubt, promising an easy out.

They offer you pain-free relief; never mind those left to grieve.

Evil -borne, death-allied; they visit when you’re low on pride

to burden you with pardoned sin–don’t ever let the bastards win.

Earth spins days both black and bright–keep praying for eternal light.

When demons knock, keep pressing on:

the bleakest hour

grays to

Dawn.