Amos 6:1


My soul grieves for a game of soccer. Why am I at ease at the game of sin and injustice?

There is a place within the soul where mortals see what many cannot see, and they press on in the presence of the immortal one, every day, full of grieve and compassion, that He will light up a candle in that darkness and take away pain

Why am I at ease in Zion?

Why my soul

Why do you worry about a game of soccer and you are at ease, drinking and giving in of marriage

Like the days of Noah

There is a place I want to live

Where the mundane will not be inside my backpack

Help me O’ Lord

To die to the pulling of this world

To a world which is not tied up to my eternal purpose

I want to die so you can live.

Thèatre


Press Play. 👆

When the I in me

encounter the you I seek,

it is no longer I that live,

but you that lives, in me

I, dead

You, alive

I have become a

Theatre, where heavens

Tales is recited

When the soul dies

To the mundane, he

domiciled between the

cherubs, feeding the

Heritage of immortals

He can not yearn for

The temporal bread again,

Because he has

escaped from the

economy of

Dust and decay.

SáNity | Requiem Of a Flower Child.


The wild fragrance of Jasmine sings no more.

The amusing songs of nightingale bloom no more

If you roll downhill in tears of madness and heartbreaks. Child, with just a tiny spark of understanding inside

Your front pockets you’ll survive in the valleys, regardless.

You’ll be crowned with ancient pearly smiles, tomorrow.

Every avalanche of madness comes with hidden graces in her right pockets, but death in plain sight.

Child, it is only those who’ll discover the hidden ocean light within their pain who’ll find their way out of this desertlike darkness; their trying soul’s awash in sanity

Keep me sane, for I’m dreading in an upside-down city.

Keep me safe, for I’m wandering in requiem streets. O’ thy light to shine, most and more

Save this child, this fragile girl. Her eyes have taste

The sourness of deaths call. Death call, to loving parents, and the soul of the tribe.

Of a buzzing tribe that steered her growth,

that made her feel wholly whole, yesterday.

Lord, save this child. O’ save this precious wreck.