Acclimatize my house of reason, dear Jesus.
These seasons are treasons of an evil beacon.
Light becomes desire camouflage as fire.
A boiling pot fevering cold from a lower point
till up high becomes a sore in our mid-core.
I can’t take this anymore, insecurities – galore.
Acclimatize my house of reason, please Jesus
Change these treasons as a anointed seasons
bring that beacon a light of optimism
light our hopes with humanism till evil
turns into a fleeting season amongst reason.
Written by: L. L.