That day, as though yesterday it lingers,
The school bell rang, yet sickness clutched my fingers.
From nowhere it struck, with a pressure so deep,
My body faltered, as if yearning for sleep.
“It’s a sickness like every other,” I thought,
So I bathed, dressed, and the next morning fought.
Yet by the first class, my strength ebbed away,
To the nurse I staggered, hoping she'd delay
This strange shadow that loomed over my frame,
A silent thief, whispering my name.
At home, I shook with a heat so fierce,
Yet cold as ice, as death’s gaze pierced.
My mother rushed, her hands gentle yet firm,
With food and medicine to break the germ.
But deeper than weakness, a battle took hold—
A war for my spirit, more precious than gold.
I remembered Grandma’s wise decree:
"Your mouth holds the power—life’s decree or plea.
Declare and proclaim, for life is your choice;
Silence the lies with a faith-filled voice."
So I declared, proclaimed, and cried,
Yet within, a voice of despair replied.
It wasn't the devil—it was me,
Replaying my faults like a sad symphony.
Guilt and sin, a heavy chain,
Would grace still find me through the pain?
"If I die," I thought, "will I stand in grace?
Before Christ's throne, can I show my face?"
Terror wrapped me like icy chains,
But in that weakness, I called His name.
I prayed and pleaded, my voice raw and loud,
No prayer before had reached this cloud.
Through tears, I laid my heart bare,
And in that moment, felt God’s care.
Two days I lay with reflections deep,
The weight of my failures stealing sleep.
How far I’d strayed from God’s design,
Bound by lust, my spirit resigned.
Yet still, a spark ignited anew,
A desire to honor what is holy and true.
A pastor came, his words like balm,
“Sometimes sickness speaks—it’s God’s calm.
He shows us how frail we are without His might,
How darkness thrives without His light.”
Humbled, I vowed to walk His way,
To flee from sin, to kneel and pray.
But the cycle returned, the struggle remained,
My spirit resolved, yet my flesh complained.
Still, I declare, “Lord, I’ll try my best,
To fight through You, to find my rest.”
And though I stumble, I cling to the Word,
For through Christ alone, strength is conferred.
Now, I tell death, as it grins at my face,
“It’s not my time—I’m still running the race.
My Lord hasn’t yet received all my praise,
So I’ll honor Him with my remaining days.”
To you, my brothers, hear my cry:
In Christ’s strength alone can we defy
The chains of the flesh, the pull of sin.
With prayer and faith, the battle we win.
All glory to God—our hope, our might,
The source of grace, the giver of light.
