When The Chilling Touch Of Death Was Comfort

To all those who love perpetually poking and prodding at their pain;

To all those addicted to that familiar sorrow induced by the thought of some idyllic and far-fetched happiness;

To all those intoxicated with the thrilling throes of life only as it rises up to fend off those ever invited forays of death;

To all those who are prone to escaping into the soothing stupor of dreamy insensibility;

I’ve left that awful mode of existence behind

My now-resurrected soul no longer offends its living garment of flesh with its former assurgent stench of rot and decay,

Ever setting it to sensational retches from having to imbibe its foul emissions;

Nor do somber songs any longer strike a poignant chord of harmony within some deep, darksome, and hollow chamber of my heart,

To echo in quavering reverberations all throughout a wounded and over-sensitive frame

Neither do I ache, any longer, with the lonesome yearning to be known;

For I am known,

And now also do I know

The Lord of Peace,

In Christ Jesus,

Forevermore

"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

(Matthew 11:28)