Greetings

Calvary greetings from our Father, the Lord of Host,
The King of heaven
Who was
And Who is
And Who is to come,

The Lord,
Mighty are His Works,
Great are His words
Nothing spoken ever returns void,
It must accomplish,
Though it tarries

Listen, you who labour,
Thou heavy-laden fellow,
Listen to the Word of the Lord,
Rest is here,
Salvation has come
And He bids you, come

“I’m gentle and humble,”
He says,
“I’ll give you rest for your souls,”
He says,
“Take my yoke, for it’s light,”
He says,

Greetings, child of God.
This is the Word of the Lord.

The Edet Isiting
©2026

Man With The Mic

I fear for the man with the microphone
He must speak that which was spoken to him
But does he listen only to speak to the crowd
Can he listen enough to listen while he speaks

I wonder at the woman with the microphone
Laid out in beautiful worship before her Lord
Does her feet still know the grounds of this world
Will this dance of transcendence translate or transform

I fear and I wonder at the man I could be
Microphone in hand, driven by more than I can transmit
I pray that my eyes and heart never know another Lord
That I never be left on my own with a microphone

I wonder at the people we will be, microphone in hand
Telling of his love, revealing to all what they need to hear
More than words we can describe yet we raise a sound
So I pray with the microphone in our hands only Him will be heard


Ezeonyeka Godswill
Oraegbu Philipa
(c) 2022

201020

A boy stared with sightless eyes at the starless sky

The smile across his neck would be pretty if it wasn’t bloodshot…

Like one of the many bristles of the brush, his head held ink, dark and red, ready to paint you a picture.

Of what dead hopes taste like on the tongue of hearts tired from trying

Just this morning his eyes held a song,
His knees said a prayer.

Someone lied to him, said there was salvation in the dead fingers of a nation’s anthem.
Told him to keep faith in the green-white-green textile

He came out with a song, just this morning…

So now the boy gazes.
Undead eyes pregnant with horror.

There are missing pages in his story. Hungers never spoken.

And today, we offer paltry libations of honor, to the heroes whose mangled bodies paint our history.

St.Davnique™️
©2021