Father let me start by saying, a million tanks can’t hold the volumes of thanks you deserve. What you’ve made me is adhesive to these broken hearts. This your grace is so on point it makes a fool stop. Father of Laws, farther from loss, he one it all.
I can’t be done with praise till the end of days (no farmland). I got the guts to tell a vision from a selfie; Brother, Jesus has been to hell and he set my Ruth free. Love has got me, like a beat box in a ribcage. Yes I trust and I obey, you should read the page right or the right page.
Tired of the accusations, I am justified. You the finger of the Devil? Check your stupid index. Love is all I’m filled with, the ink to my form, from him I was born. You can call me another begotten of God, and it isn’t my love his Word speaks out of, but his love is a plane mountain me higher.
This ember was hit with the heat of his breadth from beneath his nose thrills and now December hasn’t a pagan holy day anymore. I don’t look to the hills no more, my Help is from within where I’m hidden in Him, speaking life, wise; because he rose, I am reason. I don’t need matches to wordplay or enlighten, I’m burn again.
Next year, though eternal I’ll be older, hidden in the rock of ages, unafraid, I am boulder. The King is my size and my broader. Body of Christ, far above, who can put ass on her.
The pages of life are my kitchen, I’m cooking the truth and I serve him. I comb through the word and you hair it. Even wishes know we made it.
I got God in this temple; like Disney, its still skin I rumple. We got word in this army; I’m part of his house so I window (win though). We’re alight and foretold, we are paper-people, we’re to come and we’re hotter than pepper, peep on at our purpose.
Now, if our mindsets are prison, its the Son that frees us. And I hope that you caught this, with those eyes like scissors.
By Achikanu, Daniel; 2017.