#janes-healing
From thy neck
To thy visage;
As thou doth
Ache, and thy
Head pound's;
Like a clock
With none
Ending. O'
How I want
To healeth thee, and sprinkle God's
elixírio upon thine twinging. As when I shalt,
In thine ear's; thou shalt feeleth ringing. The chiming wilt be
Of the prognosticator's breathing, as Yahweh's sovereignty, shalt explode through the poverty of the wrong's all flesh maketh. O' ourn Lord shalt giveth, not taketh, yet when he taketh; it's for the good to those that loveth God. His will unknown, a holy applause. As we wilt clap ourn hand's and bow to his throne. On knee's, head looking to his features, fulsome and overwhelming in the most amastery shown. His figure monumental, all ardent, upon his seat. Omnipotent in his pity; as therein lies the metropolis of the spiritual Host's, wherein none dead is aloud to enter, nor fearing, nor ghost's. Tis only a toast of the blueprint map of the city of King David, the new Jerusalem awaiteth to cometh down to earth. As thee mine vasílissa Jane, Elohim shalt cureth thine pain's; mayest the Almighty's name be praised, as right now the sickness is leaving thou, and returning to Tophet from whence it came.
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( Filipino rose) dedication
Mar 4, 2016
Mar 4, 2016 at 8:19 PM UTC