No man,
No creature
Has looked at me with love—
Love that whispers:
“Till the end of time.”

Many come,
Wearing claims,
Speaking unity,
But their eyes—
Their eyes deceive.

Don’t hold me.
I fear I’ll break.
Don’t speak of me—
I tremble to spill from your lips.

My heart shuts out,
My mind dissolves
Like plum in flame.
Still, I forgive—
Even when I shouldn’t.

This life is not mine.
I must walk in the Spirit,
Even as I live by the Spirit.

For without love,
You are nothing
But a resounding cymbal.

Be perfect—
Just as He is.

"Crucify Him"
"Crucify Him!"—
The echo cracked the sky,
Yet He stood—
A storm in silence,
Pain braided with purpose.

Lifted high
On timbered shame,
He whispered,
"It is finished..."
and the veil obeyed.

Time hurtled forward—
Empires fell,
Hearts turned,
Billions touched by the whisper
Of eternal breath.

Death died that day.
Hell held a wake too soon.
He made a theater of their fall—
Stripped shadows,
Shamed the prince of dusk.

And when the third dawn broke,
Graves gasped.
The stone blinked open,
And trembling winds whispered—
He lives.

Now,
Time bows to Truth.
The Saviour reigns,
Not behind clouds,
But in crowned hearts.

Death swings a broken sword,
Still raging
In a war already lost.

I sought for identity in men—
Fragments of worth in fleeting hands.
I dug deep into the world,
Craving meaning in shifting sands.

Desperate to uncover
Why my soul was stitched with breath,
I wandered through hollow echoes,
Dancing near the edge of death.

Every day,
Still wrapped in hopeless haze,
I pushed on blindly—
Chasing treasures without a map,
Trading joy for empty praise.

I was lost...
A silent searcher beneath loud skies,
Till that divine, unmarked day
When mercy found me—
Not in punishment, but embrace.

I was arrested,
Not by chains of law or man,
But by the gentle grip of grace—
An unseen hand
That led me out of shadow’s place.

Since then,
Love clothed my naked ache,
Bundled me in purpose,
And whispered truths I never knew to seek.

Now lost in Love,
I wander dawn to dusk
With eyes wide to the miracle
That He—still—loves me so.

If penning my faith
In my Savior is a crime,
Then I’ll commit it—
Again and again.

If voicing the weight
Of my Lord is a felony,
Then let me indulge—
With joy in my soul.

Gifted are His children:
Some take the podium,
Some shape minds,
Some lay down in service.

Yes—
Gifted am I,
To masterfully imprint
Words that travel nations,
Writing His kingdom come.

Fulfilling my calling—
The Writing Evangelist.

This life—
A breath in retreat,
An echo lost among hollow songs.

What profit dwells
In building kingdoms of noise
While the spirit wanes,
Untouched, unknown?

We celebrate illusions—
Chasing flickers of worth,
Naming refuse as reward,
Wading through comforts
That silence the soul.

And yet, the heart knows:
Not every light is warmth.
Not every climb is ascent.

The truth unravels—
A quiet reckoning:
All striving apart from Him
Is wind in closed hands.

So I declare,
With eyes unclouded—
There is no life,
No enduring flame,
Where Christ is not.