WHEN PROPHECY SPOKE

The question hung, a silent weight, "Is God a truth, or sealed by fate?" A whispered doubt, a searching gaze, Lost in life's intricate maze. Then came a shift, a jarring sound, As unseen forces spun around. An election's tide, a nation's sway, And words that echoed, day by day. A voice arose, with fervent claim, Foretelling outcomes, like a burning flame. Events unfolded, stark and clear, Dispelling shadows, calming fear. The prophesied, it came to pass, A mirror held to time's swift glass. And in that alignment, strange and deep, A fragile faith began to leap. "If futures known can be declared," The questioning spirit softly shared, "Then surely realms beyond our sight, Hold wisdom, truth, and guiding light." The prophet's voice, a bridge it seemed, Between the seen and what was dreamed. A knowledge whispered, years before, Opened a newly found belief's door. So in the unfolding, stark and bold, A personal story starts to unfold. The question lingered, now takes flight, "For how could prophets know what's right?" And in that wonder, faith takes hold, A story whispered, to be told.