Could this have been Moses himself who held the commandments as tablets of stones?
Nevertheless, Herod thought it was a game for thrones that a baby would seek his throne. If only he knew that he was merely keeping it warm on earth. He plunged into his kingdom, killing the future of it in search of his own redemption. God proved man weaker than man knew and every sword...
Yet with God - within - was pain, the agony of being fought for the light being sought. No hardship was censored, no census made it easier but night fell in homage as a king suffered not himself to be found in the root of all humble beginnings. Sheep watched their shepherd born and horses galoped in joy.
The writer is in the future lost in the past which is the present...
The writer emerged from where weary hearts were strengthened. The writer is from the future, from the past but has passed the present time.
The writer is wrong, a two-faced mirror which pleases all but self. They are servants and quite frankly no writer can truly rule without relinquishing the curse of writing, I mean the course.
The writer has a goal or goals but has a score of problems. From addictions with perfect diction to obsession with obscene natures, the writer tries to be human but sometimes, fails to answer the question: who is (wo)man?
God didn't sound good to man but neither did crucifixion, even Satan, for the first time was out of the loop and found no loop-hole until God recovered the dominion he stole from the beginning Of human times. Photocredit: pinimg.com