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In The Walled Garden

Thursday, April 27, 2017


Child, where be the helmet made by me?
Forged with blood upon wooden beam.
Wear always for salvation's assurance be.

Is that your shield on yonder tree?
Now how you fall back when you are meleed;
in hand is its place, only then fiery darts flee

Is breastplate and belt under rags and fleas?
Never such a gift before given for free;
uncovered and exposed all darkness will flee.

What's this, no shoes and all bloody toes?
When you were given shoes no year knows;
yet unshod you roam on spikes laid by foes.

This equipment was given so you persist;
yet rather you toil to enter my rest.
Now study for use the sword, I do insist. 

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Into Mountainous Ring

Newly clothed in raiment by the King,
I descend into the mountainous ring.
With shield in front and back exposed,
sword in hand with readied pose.

The wyvern of old destined to face,
it lures man with tail's hypnotic trace.
Venom of desire its most deadly vice.
All that embrace do so at heavy price.

When lust fails to lure resolve away,
to rage does allure give way.
It shoots the darts of its fiery might,
to which shield impedes deadly flight.

Folly it is to stand and not fight,
to engage with sword reveals King's might.
The dragon lashes out to slash with claws,
hate in eyes and gnashing of jaw.

The fight is long as the battle wains on,
destined to lose, still hate fuels Apollyon.
Whenever knocked down by might crushing down,
the King sends men and the beast is bound.

When refreshed from above the battle resumes; 
with resolve I press and deliver a great wound.
The fiend seeing my victory is nigh;
to flee, away he does fly.

All content copyrighted ©; 2017 William McDonald

Tuesday, April 25, 2017


Fog rolls in and hides the path;
once so sure was I of footing's hold.
Now each step is a feat of math;
no longer taken in confidence bold.

Assurance wained in mind's wandering;
lies and noise from deceivers of old.
Moving towards hopes sure beakoning;
confused, I transverse narrow road.

Sounds of circling wolves in pack,
I cry out I am all alone.
At last remembrance of light in pack;
feet need no longer to roam.

Monday, April 24, 2017


There is a whisper not by ear I hear,
ignites old coals and burns away despair.
I strain to see the speaker so near;
But with eyes too dim, I rejoice to hear.

It brings new life and breaks deaths hold,
a voice that transcends all that is old.
He brings the proud to broken knees;
and stands the meek, from which evil flees.

Upon his fiery tongues the foundation laid,
messengers sent proclaiming price paid.
His words bring refresh to those hopeless,
clothing the broken in Christ's righteousness.