A Narrow Precipice
©copyright 2009 Bonita M Quesinberry 

Along a narrow precipice, I moved cautiously:
a child's trek down Grand Canyon's donkey trail.
I walked not alone: Satan slinked surreptitiously
between the rough wall and this body frail.
He struck with precision, ever so tenaciously.
His blow sent me headlong to hardened shale.
Death stills a future tongue, he grinned impetuously.

You will not win this round either, Satan,
for I belong to Christ and I have already won.

He didn't see God reach out and send me on my way;
the trek no less dangerous as I grew,
but my Father knows Satan will come another day.
The path was trickier as hard winds blew
while, again, Satan prepared to make a final play;
but God's steady hand readied, for He knew.
Diseases can still her tongue, Satan summed up my pay.

You will not win this round either, Satan,
for I belong to Christ and I have already won.

So many times he struck; sure it was successfully.
He was blind to God's stance at the cliff's edge.
I rose up repeatedly and would speak truthfully,
walking the talk where rivals lined the ledge
unaware that Father protected me faithfully.
Vile soldiers lobbed pharaoh's four-sided wedge.
More blows to her head 'til dead, they shouted willfully.

You will not win this round either, Satan,
for I belong to Christ and I have already won.

Nothing is working, Satan crossly calculated;
thus, he engaged medical, hearth and house:
Ruling agencies can kill, he deliberated,
and each lie made it appear I'm a louse.
Blind to God at my side, I was exonerated;
still they fight, firm that his fire not be doused.
Get her on the streets! Dumb, but they capitulated.

You will not win this round either, Satan,
for I belong to Christ and I have already won.