I was planted as Wisdom’s seed;
designed to sprout and bloom;
tempted, by the serpent’s greed;
the garden was creation’s womb;
Weeds overcame the garden above;
and were sent to the kingdom below.
Conspirators, rejecting God’s Love;
were cast out of Eden to grow.
The earth
…Time was never born in the garden;
it never becomes a sprout or flower.
Time never requires a pardon;
for the past, is the present hour.
Time can’t exist in a world of thought;
for there isn’t any limit to being;
everything becomes, all that It ought;
for
Some hunger for righteousness;
as kind and gentle as a flower;
tho others embody spitefulness;
while only longing for power.
We were given freedom; meant to love;
and never intentionally causing duress;
given power and Wisdom from above;
not ever designed that tyrants oppress.
Some seem born of the serpent’
…I learned that my writing is an obsession;
was, so informed, by a dear friend;
and I must tender a sincere confession;
I’ll likely continue it, to life’s end.
I must admit that it’s a sobering thought;
I am simply wasting my life away:
rather than doing
Time is the master of physicality;
both joy and sorrow he’ll bring;
manipulator of all earthly reality;
he sits on his throne as its king.
The obstinate one, stands at the helm;
surveying his vast domain;
for, in this earth, he is king of his realm;
nothing’s outside
Slavery and it’s minions are always marching;
they never remain devoid of their plans;
tyrants never plan to be among the starving;
even those who’ve bloodied their hands.
Beware of those seeking power over others;
their true motives are never to serve;
while taking freedoms of sisters and
In eternity past, as a seed I was planted;
only a mere thought, the Master found.
His honor and all glory, I was granted;
this mere seed; grown in the ground.
I’ve since forgotten that place of my birth;
which was always meant my true home;
since long ago:
We live in an age of information;
so very much has been learned;
but when it comes to dissemination;
not nearly enough is discerned.
Seed of information is plentiful;
tho much of it grows to weeds;
very little turns out bountiful;
supplying for all of our needs.
Many of its
…