I remember when I started to write like this; when I started sinking to feeling the words in jots of bliss, regardless of the proper pause to punctuate. I couldn’t be made to squeeze the grapes. I’d slice over grate, but I thank God that aging doesn’t kill wine.
So this time, I will let the vapors of my diction medicate instead of entertain, since I’m hoping for a different thing.
I’m hoping to divide the truth behind the things our eyes fail to notice.
Not popularity’s secret
But pop reality’s secrets?
Because the race escaped the swift, and the battle escaped the mighty
I was hoping to attain true power, but my greed made me so indecisive.
Lord, if I am a fight…
I am the Lord’s rifle rifling through Holy Words to reload before I snipe a slice of eternity into a generation. They will hear true hymns of Him through me, even when I’m long gone, like a long gun.
I am one of the Lord’s arrows
I was stoned once but Medusa lost
Praise to God, l trust His love
So I pull back with a rejoice, remembering the sharpening of yester years
Obedience breeds obedience, and each level asks for greater grace
That is why I either lay hands or stand and say
I am a branch burning unconsumed and screening to a thousand Moseses.
We are novices, but we become fools without his seal
Everyone has their own part to play in fulfilling God’s multimillienal promises
Even the devil knows the believer gets the best deal
No negotiations needed, we greet them and that’s it
I am
Like my Father who is all in all
I have more faith in God than in Panadol
You can wait on Him and run in faith, a paradox
But those who did nothing but prayed are still not a pair of ducks
Because admitting we didn’t let God choose is where our para docks
And when we think of those we failed to pray for, our para ducks
I am a voice and a face a group of witty words
Being ignored or being shared,
And I rejoice that heaven read
And I rejoice that God is heard
And I realize I’m sharing bread
And it is spirit-led to be praying to be Spirit-led
I remember when I started to write like this; maybe it is a testament to how God made me. And I celebrate the variety of people. Each of us having a measure of God’s spirit that is no more God-shaped, but us individually. And in Christ, we each receive the Spirit of God. We receive Christ, who was one with God without measure.
Who best to wield you, than your maker?
After all, God knows you more than you will ever know yourself
So imagine the wonder, that He will you, and so much more
To the one who believes…
Godzniel
©2026
Christ a poet 