His Bride

"And the Lord said to Hosea, Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms"
Hosea 1:2
She was a run-away bride
Claimed by one and committed to one too many
Her heart is a hardened and hollow room
With arteries like prison bars
Love doesn't flow in and out there
She's an adulterous slave happily ever after her addiction
She occasionally begs for pardon
While she orchestrates her own affliction
I guess you can say that she's proudly been around
A bride addicted to the high of demonic honeymoons
And too many fixed beds to lie in where she gets lied to
She hardly remembers where home is
There's something about the discolored vacancy in her life
It's like a tan line on a wedding ring finger
Yet here, that visible vacancy boldly flaunts her infidelity
It might as well be an invitation to access her precious soul
Her other gods never hesitate to rsvp in her temple
And what a loyal slave of a hostess she has become
And look at that grin
As she gratefully stands on the auction block of hell
With a price tag pinned over her salvation
Eager for it to be sold in exchange for a lifetime's access
To adultery with idolatry
Her husband can rest assured
That his body, whipped, beaten, and pierced by her betrayal
Would lay alone tonight
But he waits
Praying that she would be able to escape the wilderness
Before the sky falls
He waits
Drowning in the blood rushing from His battered heart
He waits
He would pay the price of his life
To rescue her abused soul being sold in the Devil's market
And He waits
Surely she'd come bursting through the front door
And with open arms
He would give her whatever's left in him to give
Because he's been desperately waiting
To wrap her in the warmth of his forgiveness
To let her know that there's nothing
That can separate her from his love
I wonder how it feels to be married to a prostitute
Who's married to the corner
Where she sells bundles of her soul
I wonder how it feels to be committed to a whore
To be married to a harlot
To be ridiculed by men who have your wife's permission
To rape the heaven out of her
I'd be haunted by images of her lips
From when she declared her vows
Haunted by the lies in her smile
Haunted by the deception behind her "I do"
I'd suffer a slow death
Infected by the fraud of her affection
Plagued by my own relentless mercy
I would have died inside
Far before the death that did us part
Locked inside an unforgiving hurt
And buried six feet beneath my sanity
Your love is better than mine, Jesus
I couldn't have married this church