Devoured Days

The air is riddled
With contempt
Like locusts
Devouring the day
The swarms are feasting
On the sprouts
Of animosity
Born from hands
Scattering self-righteous seeds
Eating their fill
Of the fruit
Of bickering words
Harvested in due time
My hope
Is in the One
Who made the heavens
And the earth
And all that is therein
My hope
Is in the good news
That fear
And power
And even death
Will not rule the day
For all that
Is subject to
The One who redeems
Who brings the abundance
To replace the years
The locusts are eating

Devoured Days

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