Warriors – Christ a poet

Story says,
God is my shield-
and Shepherd.

Story says,
That the Holy Spirit in me,
Will never leave me.

Story says,
Follow the ancient path,
For it’s the road to the peak.

Story says,
Be not afraid,
For angels of Yahweh are with me .
Fighting for me.

Story says,
Christ is in me
The hope of glory.

Story says,
I am more than a conqueror ,
And nothing can separate me from the love of Christ.

Story says,
Tell my servant David,
That I will make him great and his name will spread abroad.

Story says,
I am salt and light of the world
A city that can never be hidden

Story says,
I will bless you with wisdom,
With loyal counselors and warriors
And I have given you many lands.

Story says,
Always remember that the Spirit in you
dose not make you fear, but fills you with power, love and self-control.

Story warns,
Let not the law and the habit of studying the holy book depart from me.
Meditate on it day and Night.

Story says,
The word of God is my sword of the Spirit.
And my shield is faith in God.

Story says,
In the Name of Jesus Christ
I have been anointed with power and authority and dominion.

Ugwu David C
©2023

Without the stars appearing on a special
Night, the Angels singing sweet solemn innocent
Tones, jingles, praises to the mean
World that has seen eons
Of pains, love, gratitude, rejections that overwhelmed
Beauties and ugliness we see as tittle and nominal

I wish to be etched in your heart not as a nominal
Singer, but the beat you call special
The sound that leaves you overwhelmed
Our eyes a spark note of innocent
Thoughts that deified us eons
And mortals who are not mean

Men whose inclinations are mean
Can’t even have us as nominal
gods, but great fellows who are eons
Away from their realms. The one they’d call special
Species of rare grace; innocent
Warriors whose tales gets them overwhelmed

Though life may try to get us overwhelmed
It will never make us mean
Or rid us of the innocent
Company of the earthlight that is not nominal
Or make the moonlight serenade less special
Though it has romanced spirits for eons.

We seem to be overrated eons;
Cowered, callously, carefully overwhelmed
Lovely, little, lowly beings called special
Lower than the angels’ mean
Myrmidons, to the paladin nominal
Praying to be seen as innocent

But words cannot be innocent
We are actually eons
Beings that can never be nominal
Beings grave, gentle griefs overwhelmed
In their search of mean
Means of becoming special

To be as innocent as saint Simeon
The special eon that dwells
In this mean tent.