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Day and night, I try to fight the great fight, my lone attempts are always failing, can only reach success through the King of kings, because of Him my heart now sings. The war is won, because The Father sent His Son. Now I don’t live in fear, because of Christ always being here. I surrender all to The Holy One and I’m sealed with The Spirit. This won’t ever be undone. The Rock is stable and the firm foundation makes me able to survive the storm and not get lost. Jesus Christ paid the cost of my own sin, and because of this, over death we win. The deceptive one has been beat, but he still spreads his deceit but I’m on my feet and not at all will I be discreet about the love of God. T’would be too odd, after all that God has done for me and my family, so The Son of Man has a battle plan and a better view of the battlefield. So to Him I yield everything. Thank You Lord for the love You bring… 🙏🏻
I know, it's a little cheesy but it's honest and was rattling around in my brain so much I had to write it out or my head would explode. I have OCD among other things and thoughts loop around in a cycle but writing it out helps.
Christ on the cross was maximumly heroic:
He was braver than braves that slay goliath foes,
Or warriors facing deadly threats with stoic
And stony faces, standing nose to nose.  
At Golgotha the sin of all the world was laid
On Him who, though despised, was more victorious
Than a general at his own ticker-tape parade,
Thronged by a grateful nation joyous and uproarious.
Had Christ destroyed his enemies with a thought
(An option for Him), He would've suffered a defeat
Since all the lessons the Lord of Glory taught
Would've been dismissed as having been taught by a cheat.
It would've been the easy, cowardly fashion
Of escaping the pain that proved His Godly passion.
If I ever cared at all about anything, the sweet love of our King and Creator is my cause to sing! Rather than regurgitate the same old thing, and moving my mouth in meaningless shapes. I’d rather sing to YHWH the praises He so deserves, if such a song could I even sing, to Him no justice I’m sure I could bring. Though He loves me anyway, and while I was still dead in sin! I mean, on that old rugged cross He did what no other ever could. He who knew no sin, fully God, fully man, stepped down from His throne and wore a body of flesh, and bore the sin of the world, this God/man did only good. As only He could. Yet He already foresaw His painful death, so that’s why with His very last breath, He said “It is finished!” Jesus Christ paid the ultimate price. In the courtroom of life He, Jesus Christ, paid our deathly fines so we may be reconciled to The Father through the blood of Jesus. Legal and just is His love for us. All one needs to do, is accept his gift, repent sincerely, and ask Him to reside in your heart, trusting him like the solid Rock He is. Hallelujah Yahweh!!
Only half done. Needs more work.
The Space—between two Seconds—
Is wider than the Sea—
Is smaller than an Atom—
Is all Eternity—

I slip into Forever
Between the tick and tock
Of ageless Time's forever unwinding
Chronoscopic Clock—

And there I see together—
In perfect Unity—
My Savior—ere and after—
His Birth and Calvary—
Heavenly Lord, thy Spinning Wheele Make mee,
     make mine thy Holy Spirit glorify,
therewith thereon therein T̶h̶e̶n̶  then this thy thee,
     the Webweave   Loomeyarn thy for glory dy.
     I am thyselfe All pinkt with Judgment fine,
     that Then their Words is Ordinances Twine:

Affections make thy Holy to be Reele.
     yee Actions fill shall My apparell may.
My Conversation make and reele thy Wheele.
     Will mine the Holy thy of mine display.
     Affections me with cloath My wayes and quills thy,
     Then make me Then to make same Fulling Mills thy:

Memory Make of Flyers knit bee neate,
     And Swift my Soulespun   Spooleyarn winde before,
Varnisht in Colours Choice That flowers compleate,
     my Distaff Make thine Understanding for.
     And, Cloathd in Holy robes, my Conscience, Lord,
     O Paradise and glory shine thy Worde....
A prophet once proffered a parable,
A wheatable teaching and tarable,
     Concerning the needs
     Of a sowers sown seeds
That require a soil that's arable.
Suckles at first were curst
     To be the homes of flies,
And smell'd like open tombs
     With putrefying eyes.

But Christ, who saves the worst
    (If so He wills) from death,
Did mercy give the blooms
     By giving them His breath.
There once was a spirit-filled pastor
Who fasted like Jesus, his master:
     For forty days lasted
     A fast that he fasted
While wanting the fast to go faster.
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