Exposing the Soul
The fallen sons slipped off Creation’s lens.
To taste the sting from our own tree and fruit.
Their giants quarried till no place to stand.
Before these day’s deceiving shades of gray,
The prophet’s shutters opened wide to write.
Foretold of hate in focus driving nails.
Our Pilate’s wash in Silver Halide’s bowl.
For only one Son’s blood can fill the baths,
His saving grace developing the soul.
And now reflecting every color’s hue,
Presented flawless under Father’s sight.
This world to turn and from you it will take.
Endure this to the end and ride the light.
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Copyright © Rob Carmack | Year Posted 2015
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