Addiction Poem by Michael Walker

Envious of infant innocence,
The company of sinners over saints,
I lost the friend who died at my expense,
Who with His Blood every sunset paints.

'The world's highs cannot beat Heaven's lows, '
He whispers to me as I run from Him,
Suffering the devil's vengeful blows,
Attended by His weeping seraphim.

He reaches to me, yet I spurn His touch!
Aware that I am wonderfully made,
He can never have loved me too much,
So spurning His love should make me afraid.

Anyone who suffers from addiction
Asks if it is really His affliction.