Dear Believer,

Whoever wars with a broken or weighed heart simply gives himself for his enemy to feast on.

How be it that in our wisdom, We are foolish

In our purest state of heart, we're vile

In our cautiousness, we fail

And in our bid to prove a point, we write off a life.

It takes the tiniest opening for the devil to invade.

And it takes just an opportunity to offer him a feast.

In our bid to avoid manipulation, we fall into it's pit.

Why will the broken refuse to be fixed?

How be it that he allows himself wallow in pain, in anguish even after been given victory?

Weighty Scars...That seem like they are the right ones but are not

Leaving warriors wounded,

Making them blinded with pain so much not to see that in pain they lose.

Keeping them bound,

Blindfolding them from the reality of their gates left ajar.

Stay on your watch!

Guard your heart!

Weighty Scars...