Christ lives, and shall deliver his people.
Christ lives, and shall always reign here too.
Christ lives, and he protect his people here.
Christ lives, and his glory is his and his alone.
Christ lives, for he is the word of God the Father.
Christ lives, he speaks everything into existence.
Christ lives, and no one can ever stop him from winning.

It comes in, sparkling and exciting,
with the promise of fun and zest
like a mist dappled with thrills

but it is a false promise
like the allurements of commercials
with smiling faces and a myriad of glitz

it ends in a state of shame
controlled by lords of the dark
and the owners of hell.

I brim over with gratitude for love
and the forces of beauty and mercy
that break the trance -
the spell always ending
with the unlit inglorious state of shame.

When we chance
upon each other
years later,
you will ask me

          do you still write?

and I will answer

           of course I do.

you took my heart
with you when you left,
not my hands.

Who are you?
Why are you leaving?
Where are you going?

I uttered these words during a seizure.
Imagining you puts my mind under pressure.
I quest for your identity like a hunt for treasure.
Am I haunted by a demon disguised as a seizure?

Seizure or not, I certainly spoke to you.
Begging you not to leave as if I knew you.
Still I ask: who are you?
Seized and captured by epilepsy, I couldn’t overtake you.

Overtake to see your face.
I woke up, you vanished without a trace.
In your next visit be bold and show your face.
A mysterious character within my seizures.

The next visit is unpredictable.
Seizures are inevitable.
Epileptic seizures, an obscure disability.
Like Epilepsy: will this mysterious image remain obscure?

A seizure lured me to a pond of muddles.
like a friend I pled against your departure.
Now I'm awake hence I plead for your departure.
Still I ask: who are you?.

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