The air hums with a broken prayer,
twisted in the folds of a dying hymn.
A voice calls from the depths—
not quite human,
not quite lost.


The ground beneath you pulses,
soft as the heart of a phantom,
thrumming with a rhythm
too wild,
too distant,
to comprehend.


Waves of distortion crash,
a shattered glass ocean,
its pieces cutting the silence
like forgotten screams.
It is chaos,
but it is home.


A flicker of something holy,
something heretical,
clings to the edges of the sound—
like a dream that slips
through the cracks of reason,
where belief fades
and doubt takes root.


You step into the void,
guided by shadows
and fractured prayers.
The world bends and breaks,
but still you move forward,
drawn by the melody
that only you can hear,
and the truth that lies
in the shattered notes.


There is no salvation here,
only the quiet descent
into something new—
where the sacred
and the profane
are one.

And the prophecy calls me a heretic for claiming that the wider vision puts the hoax as a pursuit of distraction for herds to follow and while distractions, distractions are the ones that keeps the inner animals at bay, for all we are, are animals with distractions. Claiming to follow the noblest of all paths that are laid bare, before eyes, Eyes that lack vision, eyes that don't see beyond.

For Its a curse that i bare witness to and cross that I owe for letting the sheep's that are gutted for its shallow thoughts and fleeting distractions. I wish, I could unsee all that I see. I wish, I saw no pattern. I wish, the bigger picture was forever hidden and be gutted as one among the many.

Woe to the being
in its brilliance ever illuminating,
ever since it was brought out to this world

full of wonders
—you might’ve thought as such, at first—
to your initial senses
just born into the earth.
Stellar you are, and they regarded you such at first,

but considered as a constellation baffling,
soon after, thus celestial, irritating
    to their perception  
    —belonging to none
    of the earth; heathen you’ve been,

    and so that’s why, I see,
    you’re deemed a heretic.

Looking around,
you walk on the heaven’s arc
painted in all its auroral glory,

    wondering,
    ever yearning
    for the only answer they might give you someday:

    to which stars
    the people of the earth
    give their praises so pristine.

you tellem I never owed God nothin'
or He's a liar.

So, it ain't no debt t' God what Jesus called Our Father,

in theithereal-orgnot heaven of heavenly places

hallowed...
from PIE root *kailo- "whole, uninjured, of good omen" (see health). 
is yur name,

give us, we ax ye, this day plenty enough
----
It ain't no debt we all owe our father who it seems,
if you can belive it, is known
to have give us defined rights we can't loose.
So it must be money debt we be axin
for give and for get, two words diffi-cult for me, but your knowing my
ever intention assumed, I pray on but

add a deal,
based on my believing you in me is all I need to pull my weight,

do to me as I do to others, I dare you. Oops
---
forgive our, our, Jesus said, our, (He surely was debt-free, to God, right)

debt to anybody or thing, not you, cause the reconcilin' was done,

the angels, messengers to earth from God knows where,

they say. Peace, on earth. God and the disconnected reconnected.

At the first breath, God knew, ah
this is why iyob refered me to the flesh as an experience ungodly,
by design, as it were.
A glitch.
Well now. We know. All fixed. Fret not. The crossed wires were
mylinated,

the insulation needed an upgrade anyway,
evolve,
it is finished. Listen.
Clear signal right? Quiet,

Think what peace on earth would feel like, imagine

having a one eight-billionth part
in making that happen,

by being peaceful in your self, in a noisy moment of
interesting time

when odd ceased meaning untouchable and
truth as a way of life made peace

with all our reasons for war, once honored by faith in a lie

cold-cocked by the reason for the faith in me.