Chains

Bound by chains,

enslaved,

submissive to demons of our own design.

Crying out

when He walks past,

knowing He is

our only hope.

Chains of sin.

Chains of hopelessness.

He stands before us,

outstretch palm,

wounded through flash and bone,

raised.

"Be gone," He says.

And we make the choice,

to toss the chains at our feet

and walk in His wake,

or refasten the bonds

around

our wrists.

Scarlet Robe Creations