Wednesday, August 31, 2016


The preacher spoke of the midnight hour,
The zenith of old Satan’s power,
When things unseen are always mean
And nothing good can thrive.

Satan will cloak the eye and soul
To lead the blind with mal control
Then cackle at the hideous cries
Until the dawn brings light.

But darkness hath another veil,
Exact in each minute detail
To the midnight hour’s fears;
I’ve walked that daylight dark.

In broad daylight, inside the mind,
A dread unease, yet undefined,
Gives in to Satan’s unholy grip
On the struggling soul.

The devil hates to lose control,
Not because he respects man’s role;
He cares naught about the man;
He wars with our God on High.

The preacher spoke of the midnight hour,
That sleepless time to cringe and cower,
When demons taunt the mind,
And they will follow past the dawn.

But the Good Lord says, “I will give you rest.”
And He has answered each request,
When I have—earnest—sought in prayer
Release from the midnight demons’ snare.

                                    --Monty Wheeler

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