I desire to shout a word that no one else has ever heard. The word of heart and intent of man that has very little with God’s Plan. To tell you how you have erred by running scared as anger flared. But hope in word is never found as hunter seldom seeks the hound.

The things I want matter little as I sit alone opine and fiddle. The absence of the heart of want its best to take the base by bunt. As mysteries of God append the knowledge of which men offend. Flesh will rule when given ear to drink red wine and run in fear.

Until God’s Spirit the only Word we hear forgotten mine, please hold my beer. For my want is will that I and me hold dear. Each episode a faithless smear. So, run and stand upon your pride, keeping faith to fear inside. The precipice so deep and wide we thought to jump.

In Christ confide. The only way to heaven’s gate, whether way too early or much too late. Fashioned free from voice of self so few the words that rhyme with elf. Small the man of appetite who thinks he has rightly joined the fight. The light has won and it is done.