He felt in himself the dying flames

Coming out of his sin morass…

Readily feeling pain of renewal

Knowing “this too will pass.”

Like a phoenix flaring up

Plunged into cold and annealed…

He must go through the process sure

To find his prospects healed.

Burned by self-lust,

  Warming unto his soul…

Yet corrupting

Punching in him a hole.

Cleaning out Readers a part

Of reclaiming one’s heart….

Unto righteousness

From emptiness,

That deadly a la cart!

–Jonathan Caswell

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