This is our dawn. The morning after, engaged against the dark for so long, that the song in our heart craves elements and flavor of sunshine. We have been windswept, chastened by rain and fire, licking at our heals as if to taste the courage that kept us strong-footed. We held tight to our hope and found rest in our dreams of this moment, this relentless pressure lifted, our souls free from the gravitation crush of oppression. We have been left to dry, sheltered by the Wings of God, drying in the Spring morning.

The Time is Ripe. Men that had forgotten have been tested, finding memories of certain strength in days of youth recalled. What has not left them in the dark at the whim of the wicked is something beyond their own will to remember. Sturdy beams beneath foot, trusting balance and faith, foot after yard inching our way to Glory’s Gap. The edge awaits, caverns too wide for pride or man’s arrogance to find their way home as freedom is surrendered for empty promises of endless pitch and basalt.

Realizing The Win. Never having been in danger of loss for the promised defeat of enemy quite terrible delivered once and only once forever. Becoming fail, living loss, separating our hearts from God we are reborn for the old man may not journey complete. Gone to the folds of timelessness in fable, perished impoverished in psalteries lament. We arise to laughter’s Blossom, Resplendent Grace beaming from immersion smiles, Glory knows it better as Grace. Each face replete in fulfillment’s passing, having been embraced and left whole in promise. Never in doubt.

When this day is called. For our Maker has ordained such, celebration immaculate for those found in lost sheep’s burden. Gladdened by rain, and seed and fertile dust, planted beside reasoned prayer with known expectation and prefaced outcome. We are to shatter the night’s hold upon winter’s heart, melting it with Iron of Word’s Eternal. Dim cast the morn, brighter than noonday we shout to recognize one Master. Then as time struggles to its feet we remind it of its own passing having lost to Lord of Glory and a Story so often told. We dreamt of moments less splendid and now find our joy robust gone the rust of timeless envy. Remade complete. Refashioned for world yet to blossom on a new constructed horizon within dreams yet to be recalled in pursuit. Our Hope Lives On.