Oh what tangled webs we weave branching out to realms unknown.

To assume we know what we do not see and understand what is to be?

Pomp screams your name!


Is all you’ll ever be without His spirit to make animate the dirt that you merely are

pumping life and soul

creating sinews over bones.

Now we study the workings of Gods hands ignoring His voice that called something from nothing

and instead of giving praise to whom its due we settle for twisted stories and tales stitched with lies

Giving honour to the same man you have little to no trust in but denying the words of infinite God.

Like the morning star see how you have fallen from grace

Made with honour

but  rather dishonour you choose for a crown

Now see the comet that so fascinates you become the stumbling block and your demise

Your view of what should be is forever faulty


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