Oh what tangled webs we weave branching out to realms unknown.
To assume we know what we do not see and understand what is to be?
Pomp screams your name!
Is all you’ll ever be without His spirit to make animate the dirt that you merely are
pumping life and soul
creating sinews over bones.
Now we study the workings of Gods hands ignoring His voice that called something from nothing
and instead of giving praise to whom its due we settle for twisted stories and tales stitched with lies
Giving honour to the same man you have little to no trust in but denying the words of infinite God.
Like the morning star see how you have fallen from grace
Made with honour
but rather dishonour you choose for a crown
Now see the comet that so fascinates you become the stumbling block and your demise
Your view of what should be is forever faulty