Slowly it moves like a crawling snail
Unnoticed like a creeping chameleon
Gradually the altar of prayer turns dusty
And the soul becomes thirsty
The chambers of hearts becomes lusty
Just like Lazarus longing for the rich man’s dinner
Covetousness and lasciviousness
Smells like long dead rat hidden in a cupboard of secrets sins
The trap of backsliding
How terrible you are

It doesn’t matter, becomes the order of the day
And silently the head begins to move to Reggae of worldliness
The hour of prayer turns
Into the hour of players
Occupied with the game of money
Phones and frivolities
Silently mock the dustiness of our Bibles
And the spirit weeps as he is been chased out
From the core of the heart
the trap of backsliding
How terrible you are

It’s a trap
Of course it’s a trap
What injures the core of the soul
Tearing away the joy of salvation
Is more than a trap
It transforms the soul into a whore
That flirts for a reward of temporary pleasure
Stamped with seal of eternal damnation
Heaven is silent
The angels are waiting
For a long lost son
To return to the cross
To be free from the trap
The trap of backsliding.

By Aisagbonbu Success



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