Romans 2:2

If I point my fingers at my brother,
then I break the heart of the lover of my soul
I become a block on the way of His goal
And against my brother my blow is tolled

If I wrap my arms around another
Then I give to lover, honor brother
With a plate of gold
But this gold is just an image for a story that’s been told
To my heart
Of the Glory of three things remaining for our Part.

And do these three things remain?
Faith, Hope, and Professional Distance?
Ever instance of this to The Body like a lance
A weakening of His stance.

Picture it.

Arms out wide, palms extended
Ankles crossed
Dripping sweat blended
With blood
Every drop for which that stance stood

And it was good, although painful
Though the very sight disdainful
In that very night.
Still - Gainful.

All because an angel
Rolled a way an stone and into that tomb the sun shone
Upon entrance found itself alone
No trace of that pale flesh and bone it expected
Death itself was rejected
Because in Three Days, Love had been perfected.
Resurrected
And victorious, it had elected
To open every cell.
And upon exit every Stronghold fell.
Death heard its own knell
Found its sentence.
Hell.



Now go and tell
Everyone for whom that bell once tolled.
That to distance has been doled defeat
We have a commission to uphold.
So Get on your knees and be bold, watch the enemy fold, and lets finish this story we’ve been told.