Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; Exodus 20:5
—-
Thou shewest lovingkindness unto thousands, and recompensest the iniquity of the fathers into the bosom of their children after them: the Great, the Mighty God, the Lord of hosts, is his name, Jeremiah 32:18
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The weight of the sins,
of generations past,
burden my shoulders.
—-
I am tempted and swayed,
toward an evil I don’t understand,
and yet I crave.
—-
I carry the mantle of a cursed generation,
passed down,
father to child,
a covenant of sin.
In which generation do I fall,
3rd, 5th, maybe 7th?
—-
The shadow of a cross
falls across the path,
I’ve been destined to walk.
It breaks the pulling of the grave.
—-
As I look to the man hanging thereon,
calling my name,
I feel the mantle lighten.
—-
Resting at His feet,
I look upward,
into His pain wracked face;
the blood from His pierced hands,
falls on the mantle I carry,
breaking the chains that hold it there,
releasing the shell,
it falls to the ground.
—-
His eyes watch and question,
“Will you pick it back up?”
—-
Within my womb rests a nation.
Their destiny rests within the choice,
I must make.
Their blessing or cursing
rests in the power
of my decision.
—-
Do I pick up the mantle
of my fathers,
or wear a crown of thorns,
adorned with the ruby red drops
of the Savior’s blood,
one day to be traded
for a crown of gold.
—-
There, at the foot of the cross,
lay the empty shell,
a wicked generation
left behind – cleansed
by the flow of blood.
—-

