That we are slaves is in dispute,
autonomy the bitter root,
that grows into a putrid fruit,
inedible and sick.
The cultural philosophy,
the tainted lens through which we see,
unexamined, just believed,
an old illusionist's trick.
I am in chains; I know its true,
fettered desire is nothing new,
once shackled to sin and now to You!
Who brought fire to this lifeless wick.
-Beasley


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To follow Christ was the best decision God made for me! 
to those who commented on the poem.


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