At the Sound of the creation music,
The stars did sound of trumpets,
cymbals, flutes, and lyres,
one gargantuan united harmony,
the music of the stars
which reached across the blackness,
and birthed the world.

Illuminating the First World,
and inciting the creation,
of man, and elf, and dwarf,
and all others beholding to the land.

Light, then Birthed Darkness,
the shadows and fires,
then the wars,
breeding disastrous conflicts,
and opening wide, deaths doors

This is for she who is Love-ly,
the one who each passing day,
displays a fierce passion for me,
the one who is absolutely, Love-ly.

The way she speaks, exuding grace,
the way she moves, proving elegance,
The way she thinks, re-affirming wisdom,
the way she cares, lifting hearts.

She is Love-ly,
she makes me feel above all, Happy.
If she were to say, 'you're great!'
for no reason at all,
I'd feel a warmth behind the words,
simply because they come from her,
and she. is. Love-ly.

Such a Love-ly woman,
in possession of such a rare
collection of qualities,
one cannot help but see, and say,
She Is Love-Ly.

I wandered as a lonely shadow,
no substance, subject to the light,
nothing my own,
Subject to him,
the motions of a sinner,
the hurt inflicted.

No action is mine.

I am a shadow,
I've no hold or being.
It hurts being taken for a long ride.

IN a state of brokenness,
With hands tied I look to you,
My souls waters stirred,
My Saviour,
beaten, and I'm ashamed.
My Saviour,
slain for my sins,
and I'm ashamed,
I'm ashamed.

Christ Crucified,
put to death,
a death which set me free,
Now, I'm free,
free forever in him.

Unyielding love,
he called me from the darkness,
his purpose for me to live,
for me to survive,
and in him, Thrive.

My soul untied,
by the saviour who died
my hands purified,
by the man who died,
My heart sanctified,
by the Son who died.

He broke my chains,
he conquered my shame,
he led me to light,
he showed me how to love,
he revealed me to myself,
unmasked, unashamed,
I am free,
set free by the man who died for me.

I'm in awe,
beauteous amazement,
I'm in praise of him,
king of kings,
I'm in worship of him,
the lord of lords,
standing in awe of him,
the risen king.

'Watch out!' one of them cries,
then theres the one who denies,
he's broken by the surprise.
The Patrol found him out,
now he's only left to pout.

The rest skilfully scramble,
no hint, no sign,
the patrol walks on through the jungle.
Then, at Five to Nine,
all are uprooted, marched off,
single file. To the holding pen,
awaiting the work they mingle and cough,
one might escape only to be returned to the men.

Meticulously planned,
cunning is the patrol,
it weeds out the trouble makers,
and prospers the vigilant.

Of all the women I know,
She alone, stands out.
She walks with an air of grace,
Of gentility and kindess.

Days may come, hours may pass,
and still my love of her will never
meet its end. I see her heart,
it draws me nearer each moment.

One could say, I love her,
One could say I'm in awe of her,
I say, To love her is to worship her,
and to pursue her just as the Father
pursues her.

The seed of the tree,
tho' it may fall in a gust of wind,
or with the weight of the rains,
still will take root and grow,
blossom and bloom, only when the time
is right. When the season is at hand,
and its flowers bloom,
and bees and birds spread its seeds
far and wide,
and soon enough,
the whole countryside is filled
with the ocean of colours.

All for the seed taking root and growing
when the season was right,
and not a moment too soon,
nor too late.