Letter to a beloved brother

Behold!
What is ahead beyond all holds
A glory not far-fetched
With a little-more stretch

Behold, Courageous and be bold
As you trend this road
Again! do NOT be told
Of the whale-sized Mack on the road

Along the aisle
Never give yourself to wine
Never bargain your mirror with Mammon
Unto the higher calling-press on!

Standards will rise
Beat up your wings: fly high
When ye fall
Let the strong man stand tall strong

Remember Christ graced your weaknesses
Even in the bashings, crashing and crushing
Take His word ever-bracing
That your bones be strengthened!

Remember Christ the song
For the lost but found
Your help to come
With whom is NO doubt
And upon His wings, you shalt mount

Beloved! in all
Beyond my beseeching lyrics
Rhymes, structures and schemes
Guard up your heart against all ill-schemes

Flee from vices
Against the fears eyes could see
Let not your heart be as the wavering boat on the sea
To your Samson, guard against Madame-disguises

Selah!

TMsungs
© 2019

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CLAD

I have been a gladiator all my life,
Wrestling with both man and beast all these times,
A complexion of my scars,
The door to my mind’s wounds,
I scarcely knew a hero within these black holes,
Far from the skies,

I entertained spectacular foes for audience,
And my evening had unfolding shows that were popular for my trophy pose,
With facades of joy,
After which I was given the raw meat to eat with a glass of some bitterness to sip,
My pride servicing my red eyes,
With lots of grin applause as envy came as a plus,

Death was my inevitable choice,
A sting option, patient for it’s active chance to occur,
And so no matter the wins, the victims, the gifts I gave,
I was yet to please him dead,
I gave my rivals befitting houses of sorrows with my lying arrows as my wrath residues,
No morrows, as my bow bows them into my memories of victory stairs,

See,
I’ve been in this game for so long,
Long before Seth was born as another son ceded,
Playing with my breathe as my life solemn song,
Yet,
I had not gone passed the dawn of game seven,
And this was no Seth’s based ball,

The summer sage started,
When the first boomerang of teenage battle, unlatched my belt and I stumbled into some piles of dirty lies,
My chest cage got broken when I mistook the right turn for the rest, having the same look as the dust after hauling down to the earth,
The crowd’s laughter grew,
As I made futile efforts to move with my trousers down clogging my boots,
This was no goodness of peace running through my restless veins,
It was vain to shield myself from this day waiting to happen,

Finally with just one slingshot,
My hard hat headed off my head,
And I couldn’t think straight,
It was obvious that I was unsafe,
I was the lad who brought a pen knife to a sword fight,
My only gifted weapon passed down from my elder brother who departed before the age of impart,
I could only keep his last statement which was..
One word of believe from,
Your lips and this penknife becomes a sword,

But as I said,
This day with the weeks following it became the years,
I was not thinking straight,
I mean whose youngster would read Eph6:10-17 and relate a thing?
So there I was unclad ,
A master at pleasing my audience,
This misery of mine became a life series served as an appetizer to Death’s main dish,

My only hope was found in two windows
One of which was an opportunity at game seven and the other, my escape plan,
This was the chance, Death never had,
A chance become the hero within these black holes,
A chance to experience the real joy,
All I needed was a new war dress,
To address this life’s mess,
I needed to get my head straight,
To speak out that Living word of believe,
I needed to guard my heart’s cage to decide what was right and just best,
My belt so tight, I would be smart enough to deliver this truth,
My boots ever ready to tell others there could be a new you,
A faith to shield all these armors cause dead men tell no ,tales,

And so here I am,
A gladiator with a different profession,
Fighting man’s spiritual beast,
Casting down every imagination that exalts itself against the knowledge of my new found Truth,
I bleed my penknife into a sword every time I speak,
My confession has been a salvation in deed,
I am the young star who reads Eph6:10-17 and relates even with 18,
Death’s sting option was quiet late,
So whenever I win these daily battles,
I prove that the Truth already had the victory in the war,
And right now, I’m gaining mastery of this course.

Hannah
© 2018

NOSTALGIA- 1

Nostalgia, my brother,
Is the name of my daughter.

She was born in an instant, when I missed you with my beat heart.
I fell flat, in hot love, with something that was not born,
Yet found you first loved me and save me, like, daily,

So Bros I remember,
The clefts of this ember,
Our passion for loving the world, being called worldly,
And then in December, we rice past our has-beans; to love all we meet till they toothpick nostalgia.

The Niel
© 2018

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