FAITH is a shield that covers a man from head to toe. True faith surpasses dead works. And now to this title poem. Ed. Note. There is GOD and his SON and his SPIRIT they aer three separated and distinct images and yet they aer one persona one giant mega person perhaps with three faces. No one has yet completely deciphered his image iff an artiste was to create to paint GOD eye suppose it could look something like an Ancient of Days upon a Throne not once but thrice with the same face three times the image of the SON being the predominate one. The first image an old ancient man. The second one is harder a Scepter in his hand of Righteousness a crown of Diadems jewelry that cannot be likened to money or material wealth but as a sign and symbol of his Authority. Jesus has a Crown for he is Ruler of this universe. The third image; that one of the Spirit, is yet harder to discern the same Jesus face in a burning glowing place. A Glow of Flame a Fire; however, made of warmth and love.
A SPIRIT made of GOD. He broke the Horn off Satan forehead gave the world back to the Flock. Gentle reader ewe just stop. Stop strife worry remember what a PRICE was paid for love and go back to the cross for there we pray. Yes we build all our deeds the love upon the Death, not counting all the cost our possessions all our love our very lives depend on Christ our King. A living GOD a loving Spirit a wonderful Father who gives more than mere health and wealthy love neither constrained or with any guile or predetermined Schism of the flesh just unconditional love without end lasting forever nothing ever is needed again love. Eye am reminded of the many infirmities of flesh the frailties of a man the Schism of his Grace as eye sit ici with this pen discovering all the needless hashing of old wounds fumbling at the hands and scars the wounds eye sometimes get as certain they aer thine not self inflicted or just mine. Schism is a wrent a tear in time the body dies the flesh in grave the light for all to see apparently asleep yet Schism thrives for eye have seen the Temple of the Lord a Saint a Lady in death’s place repose aware of nothing now her Spirit gone to Lord somehow twas more than beautiful to me no longing brought forth from Schism’s door a token portent of myself at play upon the earthly plain of dust the Grace upon her face the Peace mere word cannot her Journey over now convey, her Judgment come and gone and Heaven won all in a single word born. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Come. GOD. The maker of the Schisms all and one.