He sat on his throne.
A human skull scepter in his hands
A crown interwoven with fangs rested on his head
A strong man in his domain.
At his behest,
Destines had been locked up.
Glories had been covered with veils.
He was drunk with blood of saints.
He had some Christians in chains.
Family lineages tied to a tree.
Unbelievers confined in the pits of law.
For their eyes were cloaked by belief in ethics.
The strong man stirred
A voice of discontent sounded in his prison.
The Christian eyes were opened.
His knees were bent in prayers
His lips uttered a cry for help to the King of Kings.
His heart was set upon recovering his lost glory.
The strong man was in panic mode.
He knew the battle was at his doorstep.
For such prayers elicited a charge from the host of Heaven into his kingdom.
Battering sounds from the catapults of the hosts of heaven.
The intensity increased with the Christian's increased prayers.
In Crisis mode now.
The strong man shouted to his minions.
Go and distract him now
Make him think he is weak
Send him a false vision
The minions tried.
Their efforts were fruitless
Like pouring trying to fetch rain water using a basket.
The Christian was truly tired.
Tired of being stagnated in his pursuits.
Tired of the recurring cycle of death and failure.
The doors of the strong man's lair are smashed open.
The hosts of heaven charged at him.
Picking up his sword,
He hoped to keep the Christian down.
His blade failed him.
A sword drove into his chest.
Screams of pain erupted.
From his lips came the throes of death.
He fell within the second.
For he had tried to fight against the ALMIGHTY.
The strong man was dead
The house was filled with treasures.
The Christian was free.
He got back all the enemy had stolen from him