You have come from there

You have come walking
unaware of your destiny
idolatrous dreams
where you are a deity

You keep walking
on old lands
calling upon powers
that you will never understand

You come from there
where the sun does not rise
where there is no warmth
where blood was never
sacrificed for the sake of love
but here is not so

You have come
ignoring sacred truths
stepping on temples
spitting on love's face

ever lasting lives await
to those who have believed
an eternal soul
and glorified bodies
God's temple

You come from there
where the sun does not rise
where there is no warmth
where blood was never shed
for the sake of love.
But here is not like this.

Pyrolingua: Poor Miserable writer

Once upon a time there was a man who wished to change the world. He would observe around him and see things other people seemed to miss. His heart would overwhelm with desperation and sorrow by the apparent ignorance or complacency. As he shared with the few who would hear they would explain to him that everybody goes through the same feelings when they are young. That as a mere phase it would pass and he would be content. That life was just about living for the sake of living or surviving. Time seem to take for ever and the world instead of getting better it would get worse. He thought, I will change the world by the written word. I will show the world that it is sick. So he went to work in studying the condition of the world. The condition of the hearts of man. He sought the wisdom of the old and wise. His heart was thirsty for understanding. He drank all he could but something happened. He got stomach sick. The Old seemed to have wisdom but it was not truth. Pessimistic sayings and riddles he merely found. So he went to work again. This time he only bothered only in trying to put on words a description of what he saw. Of What he felt. So he wrote and wrote without ceasing. Describing a world that was unhealthy. He described in many ways and forms what he thought was a great master piece of literature. He had finally materialized his longing on paper and was ready to show the world. Unfortunately to his detriment the world did not pay him attention. His school did not listen, his peers nodded and kept on their affairs as usual. The poor writer could not understand. To the world he was a mere boy who did not know anything. To his family who was he to school them on the lessons of life in which the were experienced connoisseurs. He encountered a problem. He had to earn their respect. But to earn their respect it seem as if they wished him to make all the mistakes possible in order to be accepted in their world of chaos. Poor writer tried to make himself heard but the world was consciously giving him a deaf ear. He went back to work and study. One day he came to a horrible realization. His master piece was not a master piece after all. It was merely a description of a rotting wound but not a cure. He had merely described to the world its symptoms but had not provided nor discovered a cure.
The poor writer came to realize something even more horrid. He had described a wound and poked it. That is why the world had hurt him. He was poking the sick beast. But he was hurting as well. Which it meant that he was part of the wound, he was sick as well. He was not healthy nor above the rest. How can a sick person heal the world. He cried in pain.He cried because he realized that the sole motive for his diligent work was pride. He wanted to be seen and noticed as the one who had saved the world. It was not love from which this desire sprung but pride to make his name known and remembered. Hid was disgusted in himself. So He broke his pens and threw his papers. After much pain and sorrow he got up and sought. He who was healthy, maybe he'd have the cure. But the healthy came to him first. He who sought him let him know that the world is not sick but dead. It is a rotting corpse and that is decaying as the time passes by. As he listened to his healer he realized he had not just been healed but had been risen from the dead. A great joy came over him. He had not just found the cure but the healer. The truth he had been seeking. So he went back to the world and share his great discovery. Poor writer did not expect that he would be ignored even more now. For when he came back he was not part of it anymore but he was to the world what the world really was and couldn't see. He was the stench of death. He tried and failed. The wold didn't just not want to hear him but now they hated him. Just as they hated His healer. How could they reject someone so great and beautiful. Someone who had died for them. His Healer became HIs LORD, his love, his brother, and Father. His life within him. He grew in the knowledge of Him and came to know Him. To love him.
One day that His Lord revealed to him through His written word that he had been destined to be brought to life. Before the creation of the world he had been predestined to be God's son. The seed of Eve and and not the brood of the viper. That just as he had been destined also other had. His brothers and sister to be called to life. And he would be part of such calling. That His Lord would not just change the world but make a new world. And he would be part of that adventure. The writer dropped his pen and paper. Just as the burden was lifted from his shoulders. It was not his burden to change it. Nor to heal it. It was not his burden to write words that would heal the nation. For all has been written. His job would be to take His Lord's Word and News of Salvation to the chosen ones

I have been invited to the Greates Adventure of all Times

Deep in the blackest darkness there is someone
who disguises as a being of light.
Who twists reality and truth. Who steals praise he is not worthy of.
Using attributes meant for good to do evil and horrible deeds.
He comands armies of beings who follow his wicked ways.
To destroy and kill. To deceive and to cause pain.
He brought death and sorrow to paradise.
There is a war being fought
The casualties are horrifying. But this war has alrady been won.
He hides in pain and coward fear. For his time is near.
His creator came to his kingdom. And was killed by the darkone
But death could not hold him.
For when he killed the author of life. He was doing something more
The deceiver got deceived
With truth.
And now his kingdom is but a dying beast.
A worthless beast who dared to do the unthinkable
To demand worship from His creator
But he caused a fire in him and consumed him in ashes
made a spectacle of him.
That creator advances The Kingdom
A mighty army advances in the mist of the cowards armies
To save those who he chose for His Glory
Because when it comes to his sons and daughters
No one is left behind.
I was rescued and brought to His love and Care
I was taken care of
I was healed from my wounds
I was fed and quenched.
I was loved and strenghthened.
And now I have been called to the battle
I have been armed with the deadliest weapon
His all mighty word. His double edged sword
With shoes of glad tiddings
to step in the deep darkness, and bring my brothers and sisters
to His awesome prescence.
I am not alone. I go to his vessel in the south
Where the sun burns hot, and yet it does not warm
I know I will take hits
and be wounded. I will be challenged and threatened
For the dark one knows my dark secrets.
But I care no more.
For even if my brothers are not gracious
My Father will.
I will be going to places where the banners of darkness stand high
But I will not fear
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadows of death.
For the Lord is my shepperd.
I go because my Father loves his children
and what sort of brother would I be to not go and rescue them
I await patiently and yet eager to serve.
To take the ground and reclaim it for My Father
to advance His Banner and proclaim to the heavens
This Land belongs to the King of Kings and LORD of Lords.
I have been invited to the greates adventure of all times
I will fight, and I will be wounded.
But I am willing to be wounded
Because He was wounded for me
and by His wound we are Healed.