Some are born not to rest, but to rise,
Not with the ease of the fearless or the strength of the wise.
But with a gift carved deep in their soul,
A fire, a grit, a warrior’s role.
It’s not in the power of muscle or might,
But in the refusal to surrender the fight.
God in His wisdom forged them in flame,
A mettle unyielding, a spirit untamed.
Life will come, relentless and vast,
Trial upon trial, a merciless blast.
They’ll bend, they’ll break, they’ll bleed, they’ll fall,
But rise again, standing tall.
Perhaps they’d wish for a gentler path,
A road untouched by sorrow’s wrath.
But warriors are shaped by battles countless,
And their enemies that stand before groundless
The hardest trials are sent to the few,
The strongest souls who will see them through.
For God’s own fighters, though battered and scarred,
Bear the weight of pain as a badge of the hard.
You may feel shattered, weak, and torn,
Yet in your struggle, strength is born.
What you’ve endured has made you strong,
A testament that pain won’t last long.
So when life’s storms rage, and hope feels thin,
Remember the steel God placed within.
Your battles have purpose, your trials a plan,
For only the toughest are called to withstand.
Do not give up, for you are His own,
A warrior of grit, forged by the stone.
Pain is a tool, shaping your right,
And you, God’s fighter, shine like a light through the night.

The hunter tilts on the wind
It’s body a blade of silence cleaving through the
measureless blue
Its wing, wide and ragged bear the purpose
Of an ancient design, an immaculate weapon
Gods perfect hunter
The shadow cast by it but a fleeting brand on the earth it roams

Beneath the hunter, in worlds below, its prey sprawled in breathless hush
Thump thump thump
The rabbits heartbeat a taut rhythm
A primal symphony of fear
Music to the hunters ears

Time falters, moments tense
The hunter eyes twin augurs
Scrying death from the vault of heaven
Gods judgement upon the beasts below
Power and poise incarnate

Then the dive comes
Time comes too slow yet too fast
The air itself seems to spilt
As if the hunter is not moving through the blue
But dragging the skies themselves down with it

Talons strike, flesh tears, bones break
A flash of motion honed by divine destructive design
A precision that knows no mercy
And shows no falter
Only hunger
Only the law carved deep in years of known
The hunter has its victory

The skies exhale as the hunter lifts up into them again
Its prize clutched within its vice
The world below thankful for its safety again
The grasses sway in its wake
Bowing before the hunters might

Oh, hear the hymn the heavens weave,
A thousand strings where clouds deceive
The barren earth, now drenched in light,
As drops compose the endless night.

Each leaf, a drum; each stone, a chord,
A choir raised to praise the Lord.
The rivers hum, the valleys sigh,
The rain ascends, though falling, high.

In streams of mercy, time unfolds,
A grace that waters hearts and souls.
The song cascades, a fleeting art,
Yet lingers deep in every heart.