Guilty pleasures, self-gratifications,
and the stench of human flesh
beleaguered by temptations
of physical haste;
worms exit the cavities
of their putrefying morals,
their hungry souls deign to die.
The tempter tells them to feed
their cravings by turning stones to bread;
the VOICE of reason cries:
It is written, Man shall not live by bread
still, their own posterity is beckoned,
and conceit becomes a big, black pit
deep in ignorance,
as they reckoned
and goddesses, controlling
their own fate; down to
the bone, hating the chidings
that roar across the face of darkness,
as the tempter tells them to cast themselves
down, angels will have charge over thee;
the VOICE of conscience screams:
It is written again, Thou shalt not tempt
the Lord thy God.
they unwittingly don slavery's shackles
of sickness, pain, and death...
cold, distanced from the Son
as they deny the price He paid;
the walls are steep, the mountains
are high, the watersvast.
In anguish, He looks on at their stone
hearts that plead for perpetual fire
as the tempter tells them to worship him
and he'll give them the world and its glory;
the VOICE of conviction cries:
It is written, Thou shalt worship the Lord
thy God, and him only shalt thou serve.
Temporal fulfillments cost someone their soul.
It is written.