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. copyright 2024 - Donald P James Jr https://www.amazon.com/stores/Donald-P.-James-Jr./author