Frequently standing atop projections I fail to explain the image of my ineloquence. Infrequent testimony of bliss and harm I shadow the grace with simple self-attachment. Finding nothing but a pot of old gold at rainbow’s end that simply converts to nothing purchased at Ended Days. Where is the pleasure of this treasure, I expended breath and might to locate and steal from defeated leprechaun, liberal or reformed, truth-teller preaching merriment? When statues speak it all begins to reek of poisoned paradise.

Miscreants have entered through the front door of the palace, even now feeding your children through straws banned in their nativity. Mirrors of hopelessness flash upon cave wall while everyone tries their darndest to pretend the shadows are real as they have seen the sun arising. Angels of Light are still, well, simply servants of the King. How then will emperor follow fallow casting to crush a world he was never meant to own? In decency, I must tell the naked king he is wearing nothing in front of children.

They don’t like my meter, measure, rhythm or key changes and all I can say in ad hominem is, who invited you any old way. Standing when now fashionable to kneel before pictures of an imaginary king, sheltered in the combinatory image of Zeus, Socrates and Aristotle pointing to sky and Earth promising thunder by four thirty. When in the throne room my reverence thrust me to my face before Sovereign explanation. Reality is when your knees will no longer hold you in the presence of your Maker whether unsupported or contrite you are pleased the salty sea of glass.

Your red shoes do not earn the kiss upon that ring. For Gold is not god but one letter removed just as the number of the man is just this side at the sealed door of perfection. We are not heroes of our own proclamation. And millions killed or lands stolen in legality or legacy are simply contortions of a proper heart for Messiah. This breaking was crafted before the beginning of your age, as God Himself dropped the gauntlet at the feet of man and angel. Wood, hay and stubble, metal, birds or madness can never be the king of a heart made in Heaven’s crucible venture. The products of genetics cannot make the seed that tends, starts or remakes Creation. That is only done by the Word a Word spoken by tongue and mind that sliced time, mass and gravity from the slab of nothing.