The Devil’s Workshop

In Satan’s yard, a sale was held,
Where tools of torment proudly dwelled.
Each gleamed with promises, tempting and fair,
To trap the unwary who wandered there.

One day the Devil decided to sell his tools,
Though His auction mocked eternal rules.
For though he tempts with subtle schemes,
God’s light will shatter darkest dreams.

Wicked tools of ancient art,
Designed to tear the soul apart.
A demon’s fair, a dreadful sight,
Where darkness reigned in day and night.

Tools of hatred, envy, pride,
Displayed with prices fixed beside.
Anger, with fire, was priced quite low,
Its flames so common, its spark did grow.

Gardening tools for the soul’s decay—
The rake of scorn to scrape joy away,
The hand tool of envy to bury the kind,
And gossip, a rope that strangles the mind.

Resentment sat heavy, a tool of spite,
While hatred gleamed dark in the fading light.
Bitterness for sale plain and sharp,
Slothfulness cheap, a bitter harp.

Wrath burned with searing glow,
While greed brought bids that overflowed.
Jealousy’s till, a twisted thorn,
Its bidding rose from night till morn.

Pride, like a king, commanded high bids,
As greed whispered secrets the devil hid.
Greed sparkled, a sharp, cruel blade,
While lust lay cheap, in shadows it stayed.

The shovel of gossip dug its grave,
And selfishness enslaved the brave.
Yet in the corner, plain and bare,
Two tools were sitting, lacking flair.

But in one corner, dusty and plain,
Two tools lay silent, their power unclaimed.
No price was marked, no bids were made,
Yet these were the devil’s finest trade.

No price adorned their worn-out steel,
Yet power in them seemed surreal.
A buyer asked, with curious gaze,
“Why are these tools left unappraised?”

“What are these tools?” a buyer inquired,
heart both wary and strangely inspired.
Satan grinned with a wicked delight,
“These are my treasures, my truest might.

The devil smirked, his grin grew wide,
“These are the tools I use with pride.
Doubt and Discouragement—my prized pair,
With them, I spread my dark despair.

With Doubt, I whisper, ‘You’re not enough,’
With Discouragement, I make life rough.
No prayer can rise, no faith can stand,
When these two tools are in my hand.’”

They’re not for sale; they’ll never be,
For they ensure my victory.
No sharper blade, no crueler snare,
Can bind the soul or seed despair.

When faith is shaken, hope turned dim,
These tools draw souls away from Him.”
They paralyze hope, extinguish dreams,
And drown the soul in silent screams.

Yet remember, no tool forged in Hell’s domain,
Could break the bond that God ordained.
let us learn from the devil’s game,
To guard our hearts from despair and shame.

Lift your eyes, for the Lord is near,
And no tool of Satan can thrive when He’s here.