"dethroned" poems
Ping Pong World Champ Andrew Baggaley,
Wow that lad can really play.
Dethroned the “King” who came from Russia,
Then 1966d that kid from somewhere near Prussia.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
Zeus who was in control
A powerful god who was bold
He had a son called Hercules
Hercules being the protector for the weak and defense against the strong
His strength beyond mortal men
Hercules was always the victor at the end
But let’s more to a new seen
Follow me and you will see what I mean
Our tail involves ancient Rome
But the task will be defeat Rome’s army
The call is for Hercules to use his strength one last time
But Hercules has become old, but still his might
King plateau has a beef with Hercules
The king himself states, “my army is too powerful for you to defeat”
But that’s what plateau thinks
However, king plateau must remember, Hercules is guided by his father Zeus, who is a god and could make his temple shrink
ZEUS THE ALL POWERFUL GOD
SO KING PLATEAU WANTS TO TEST OLD MAN HERCULES STRENGTH
YET, HERCULES ALWAYS DEMONSTRATED HIS STRENGTH IN THE PASS IN HIS YOUTH
HERCULES IS NOW OLD, BUT CAN STILL DEMONSTRATE A BEHOLD
NOW KING PLATEAU WANTED HERCULES TO BEND A BAR
THE BAR BEND IN STAGES ONE BEND AT A TIME
HE THEN CRUSHED A SMALL ROCK IN HIS BARE HANDS
TRULY, HERCULES HAD NOT LOSS ANY OF HIS HERCULEAN SGRENTH
BUT COULD KING PLATEAU AND HIS ARMY GO THE LENGTH?
SO THE MISSION BECAME CLEAR
MAKE THE WEAK HAVE FEAR
BUT HERCULES WILL ALWAYS BE NEAR
SO LET THE BATTLE BEGIN
KING PLATEAU’S SOLDIERS WERE BATTLING THE WEAK
YET, THE WEAK WEREN’T EXACTLY POWERFUL, BUT WERE MEEK
OLD MAN HERCULES CAME ONTO THE SEEN
LIFTED HEAVY OBJECTS AS IF THEY WERE TOYS AND HEISTED THEM TOWARDS KING PLATEAU’S ARMY
NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN HERCULES
STRENGTH HAVING NO BOUNDARIES
YET A MISSION WAS AT HAND
KING PLATEAU’S ARMY WAS BEING DEFEATED BY HERCULES LIKE BOWLING PINS
KING PLATEAU WAS BECOMING WORRIED AS HE COULD BE DETHRONED
SO HERCULES ENTERED THE TEMPLE AND LIFTED KING PLATEAU IN HE AIR AND THROUGH HIM TO THE GROUND
SUDDENLY, KING PLATEAU GRABBED A SWORD AND STARTED SWINGING,
AND HERCULES ALSO GRABBED A SWORD AND MADE HIS ATTACK ON KING PLATEAU IN A FIGHT TO THE FINISH
BECAUSE OF HERCULES STRENGTH, HE MANGED TO STAB THE SWORD INTO KING PLATEAU’S HEART, AND HE DIED INCIDENTLY
HERCULES RUSHED OUTSIDE THE TEMPLE TO USE HIS STRENGTH ONE LAST TIME, AND DESTROY THE TEMPLE FOR GOOD
THE TEMPLE COULDN’T WITHSTAND THE STRESS OF OLD MAN HERCULES STRENGTH, ANMD IT CRUMBLED INTO DESTRUCTION
AT THAT POINT, THE OLD MAN HERCULES FINALLY DIED, AND THE VICTOR FOR THE WEAK NO MORE
MYTHICAL WAS NOW IN HEAVEN’S HANDS
BUT OLD MAN HERCULES WILL ALWAYS BE REMEMBERED FOR HIS STRENGTH ALWAYS IN DEMAND
The clouds have gathered into darkness
This is a day of sadness
But the weak can contest in being the witness
Strength coming from the skies
Hercules accomplishments having an understanding in being wise
But we must realize
The sunshine is the life of Hercules
The past having a sunset
But Hercules will always be remembered in having full effect.
Apr 12, 2018
Apr 12, 2018 at 4:52 AM UTC
Sometimes I wish
That you just vanish into thin air
Dethroned from this world
Gone with the wind
Completely forgotten
Stuck in the unknown...
Sometimes I wish
That I don't wish at all
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC
I've watched too late; the morn is near;
One look at God's broad silent sky!
Oh, hopes and wishes vainly dear,
How in your very strength ye die!
Even while your glow is on the cheek,
And scarce the high pursuit begun,
The heart grows faint, the hand grows weak,
The task of life is left undone.
See where upon the horizon's brim,
Lies the still cloud in gloomy bars;
The waning moon, all pale and dim,
Goes up amid the eternal stars.
Late, in a flood of tender light,
She floated through the ethereal blue,
A softer sun, that shone all night
Upon the gathering beads of dew.
And still thou wanest, pallid moon!
The encroaching shadow grows apace;
Heaven's everlasting watchers soon
Shall see thee blotted from thy place.
Oh, Night's dethroned and crownless queen!
Well may thy sad, expiring ray
Be shed on those whose eyes have seen
Hope's glorious visions fade away.
Shine thou for forms that once were bright,
For sages in the mind's eclipse,
For those whose words were spells of might,
But falter now on stammering lips!
In thy decaying beam there lies
Full many a grave on hill and plain,
Of those who closed their dying eyes
In grief that they had lived in vain.
Another night, and thou among
The spheres of heaven shalt cease to shine,
All rayless in the glittering throng
Whose lustre late was quenched in thine.
Yet soon a new and tender light
From out thy darkened orb shall beam,
And broaden till it shines all night
On glistening dew and glimmering stream.
3.6k
and bright knights
the phoenix spread
her smouldering wings
the Sphinx dethroned
future kings
the Queen of Hearts
a heartless nag
Baba Yaga the stilted
house . the hag
brave Beowulf
dragged down to drown
the monster Grendel
by him was slain
Io was a cow despised
watched by a creature
with one hundred eyes
the lawn is made
a land of gnomes
mushrooms grow
in garden homes
where are
all these things indeed?
they are in books
just look and read!!!
SøułSurvivør aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
Catherine Jarvis
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
The insanity that you left with me with
has become all-consuming.
It has eviscerated me and I have no organs left,
only maniacal thoughts and illness.
The lunacy is my epidemic,
the madness is my disease.
The inferno where my heart once was,
supplants the warmth that your wicked love used to fill me with.
My mind has been dethroned by ghoulish memories and succubus visions.
My two lungs no longer breathe air,
but rather intake black roses and expel brimstone.
The deranged delirium is my only comfort.
The hysteria, in lieu of love,
is now what keeps me intoxicated.
The most garish part of all,
is that I've never felt more alive.
Jan 18, 2013
Jan 18, 2013 at 4:47 PM UTC
How stand thee tall, judgemental,now? How dost thou choose thy bread?
When all around thee, finger pointers, leer and shake their head.
Have you found a sphere of comfort here, whilst perched upon thy throne?
Has it ever really bothered you, that esconced, you're quite alone?
You live with dire restrictions, imposed so harshly by the Court
And as socially, classed an isolate, it affects you more than ought.
Though recompensed so generously you feel the pressure bound
Because each and every day your judgement rendered, must be sound.
Each utterance decreed by you must hold good Law intoned
Or the Brotherhood Knights Templar shall see you thoroughly dethroned.
A Pillar of Society, though one who stands forlorn
Is the Judge who'se daily client's words are negatively sworn.
The Judge who waits expectantly for that ray of light to shine
But is constantly bombarded by the tarnished shade of crime.
The loneliness is tangible and corrosive wear extreme
For the man who sits in judgement and who'se wisdom must be seen.
Marshalg
Pukehana
13 January 2014
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 5:31 AM UTC
Gone are the glorious Greeks of old,
Glorious in mien and mind;
Their bones are mingled with the mould,
Their dust is on the wind;
The forms they hewed from living stone
Survive the waste of years, alone,
And, scattered with their ashes, show
What greatness perished long ago.
Yet fresh the myrtles there--the springs
Gush brightly as of yore;
Flowers blossom from the dust of kings,
As many an age before.
There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e'er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Plataea's battle storm.
Boy! thy first looks were taught to seek
Their heaven in Hellas' skies:
Her airs have tinged thy dusky cheek,
Her sunshine lit thine eyes;
Thine ears have drunk the woodland strains
Heard by old poets, and thy veins
Swell with the blood of demigods,
That slumber in thy country's sods.
Now is thy nation free--though late--
Thy elder brethren broke--
Broke, ere thy spirit felt its weight,
The intolerable yoke.
And Greece, decayed, dethroned, doth see
Her youth renewed in such as thee:
A shoot of that old vine that made
The nations silent in its shade.
1.8k
once upon a time there was a king who married the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, but over time her beauty faded and he could not understand why. one day while pondering this problem he saw the gardeners wife. when the gardener took her as his wife she was grey and unnoticeable now she was a beauty in her own right. he called the gardener and asked him what is his secret. the gardener replied tongue your majesty.
the king commanded that his wife eat tongue daily, but nothing changed. the king not one to loose took the gardeners wife and gave the queen to the gardener.
the gardener spoke daily to the dethroned queen an slowly over time her beauty returned and the new queens beauty faded over time. this anguished the king even more, he truly did not understand he moral of the story and once again asked the gardener.
the king still don't get it, do you?
Jun 14, 2013
Jun 14, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
The ugly jazz in your stride,
Your snow drenched tombstone simper,
And your bruised peach overcoat of skin
Have been dethroned but
Will never be replaced.
My hearts a museum and
You're the big T-Rex all the kids came to see.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
She resides on the street outside my office,
from sleepy mornings to crowded nights.
Apparently we share the same working hours.
The hands of Norther has begun to claw
through coats and bones with greediness.
And I worry that she might catch the cold.
Her patient resilience and humble posture,
head bowed down, hand stretched out
constricts my heart in terrified recognition.
She looks like a queen dethroned.
Where was her kingdom before this street?
She seems ageless but infinitely ancient.
I wonder...
What’s it like to watch legs pass you by,
briskly stomping away in annoyance.
How dare she remind us about the flaws of life.
That we are less human than we admit
behind our busy faces and comfortable shoes.
What’s it like begging for plated coins,
when you’ve sacrificed everything
in a foreign country digging for gold?
Humiliation convolutes my heart
every time the ignorant titter of the young
and the turned away faces of the old
depreciate her existence.
Despite my fidgeting just minutes ago
I slowed down by the corner,
searching an answer in her fathomless eyes,
The story of sacrifice is clasped in her hands,
a framed picture of a boy and a girl.
The scribble on it says: ”Please help,
me and my children are starving.”
I knelt beside her,
shyly stroking her weathered hand
before placing the hot Chai by her side
and laying down my tribute in her paper cup.
Her hand held warmth,
when grasping mine, lifting it to her lips.
The kiss and gentle blessing startled me.
Rising to my feet again and heading back
to my comfortable office...
...it started to rain.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
I will sit upon the throne of disaster
When the time comes, I'll be dethroned
By something
Far
Far greater
and perhaps i'll obtain some meaning in this life of mine
Perhaps i won't
Doesn't matter
For now, as long as the sun is lit
With an elixir of immeasurable fire
I shall bear the heat
of my broken kingdom
I am wrath
I am the tyrant.
Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 11:54 AM UTC
Rebellion – for too long the status quo,
is, in our day, a predictable show.
Antichrist irony, absurdity
shockingly daring incongruity
no longer shock the bourgeois, you know…
Alone in the temple of glass with a rock,
you’re out of traditional symbols to mock.
Surrealists did it much better than you –
and it meant a lot more in ’32.
You chew your cud on the cattle-wagon
overused shock-tactics (moo ! ) now draggin’
(or herding) aboard the iconoclast train
(b)lowing through boxcars your bovine refrain:
“to, um – make people think…” Oh Lord, how uncouth.
Nihilist narcissus – tell me, what’s Truth?
Must creative always be subversive?
I discern, in your frenzied discursive,
a dull and predictable lack of life.
While you brandish that plastic butter knife
I seem to note, in your constant ******
dearth of artistic ability. Must
bohemian acolytes (some yawning)
ever be deer in the headlights, fawning
before the ironic gesture? It’s sad;
the bitter is sweet but the art is bad…
They circle hors d’oeuvres on opening night
like moths around white wine in candlelight,
cerebrating in a modernist void:
contemporary aesthetes, overjoyed
to know once more that life has no meaning;
the planet is doomed; that kings are queening;
that chic just arrived, escorting philosophy
(Forgive us, Duchamp, for all this monstrosity).
I long for Hudson River School sunsets
Old Dutch Masters, religious art, portraits,
Red, green, or black propaganda-art? NO !
The view does not merit the price of the show.
I’m dada-ed to death, beyond the surreal.
Conceptual gimmicks have failed to conceal
your want of ability, values, and faith
In the book you despise it is written: “thus saith
the fool in his heart: that there is no God…”
You: Postmodern Art – to the firing squad!
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:57 PM UTC
In the time before,
I was empty, miserable inside,
A wretch whose every smile was war,
Whimpering for a curtained place to hide.
The day, desolate;
Night, in its black stillness much the same.
Pitched pain, itching for an exit,
Legs set to cease the heaving hate and blame.
Now, I feel my heart
Beating love-blest power through my chest.
Before unfelt, its bucking start
Divests the owner, all along mere guest.
Symphony, rise, crest,
Condescend to my low-sighted view.
I sleep to wake, straight-up obsessed,
Eight letters and a period for you.
Careful now, don’t jest,
Lest my past peers profitable heist,
Dethroned selves sing out through the mesh,
Anguished, set to vanquish their sole poltergeist.
So, patch; never cease
Paragon of love’s delightful dawn,
Persisting for the barest piece
Of you, the whole of why I am not gone.
Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:58 AM UTC
Of the hospital
I sat clenching a leopard
filled with beads.
Father beside me
Tapping his chestnut wingtips against
the bloodless linoleum floors.
It was September. The heat oppressive,
Like the Moors toward foes
in the Iberian Peninsula.
Rays illuminated the woes of those ‘round me.
A barrier existed
emanating from within
Fleshed out by a zeal, to not be on one’s own
At the dinner table, as Father responded
to a **** addict’s violent implosion on Nile Street.
At Carmel-by-the-Sea building sand castles to be
--washed away by the tides
on the bay enrobed with fire
Fleshed out by a desire to be
dethroned.
Fulfillment flooded the lobby,
Father ceased his tapping,
A Florence Nightingale lead the way
past bland white doors,
past elderly covered in black crusted sores
past a priest who pours a libation.
In to the room of your entrance,
Nearest and dearest gathered ‘round
the blemished linoleum floor
Warm cries hollowed down
the halls, signifying your existence
Clenching a leopard
filled with beads. (Now in the attic)
Mother Rose freckled and content
Embraced you, as the world still spun
My eyes a maelstrom of red yellow and black,
seeped streams of grey streams of grey
for the loneliness fleeted that Autumn day.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:24 AM UTC
I know who I am
behind the acne and whack beats
without the coke lines and heat
burning my throat from the cigarettes that
greet my teeth and seep into my lungs
I know what I find fun
and what I find dumb
I'm complete
introverted, a bit cheesy, but
not afraid to be me,
it has left me lonely
"Just be yourself"
but somehow that has me
sitting on the shelf
unnoticed and left to melt
not even a side course
let alone a meal
no protien
in me
I'm valueless to most people
those who eat meat
and those who don't
I was king of nothing
and now I've been dethroned
so *****
unknown
gone
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC
so tired of your excuses
and the truth is,
you're a liar and a coward
and you're never gonna learn
sing it like the gospel baby
I don't have a prayer
you come to me when you're broken
expecting some kind of repair
truth is, I'm not your savior
but I don't wanna come
down from this cloud
I called you a devil
said you never loved me
just didn't wanna be dethroned
so tired of playing someone else
and the truth is,
I'm too good of an actor
no one sees my real character
play the victim with conviction
get away with the perfect crime
you come to me when you're on the run
expecting me to be your safe haven
truth is, I'm not a fortress
but I don't want to be abandoned
by you rats on a sinking ship
I called you weak
said that you've been taken over
but all along, it was me
play me like an instrument
we'll make the most brutal music
cause we've got the same song
stuck in our heads
and we pretend we don't
know it by heart.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
In the beginning there were no words
for there was no call for words,
neither was there knowledge,
for there was nothing to know.
All was sublime wordless ignorance,
everything simply - was.
It was at this time, the time of everything,
that Utopia reigned.
All things raised themselves up to the sky
from the rich fertile soil,
from the clear waters,
and from beneath the weight of great boulders.
All things in harmony reaching towards
the brightness of a Utopian sky.
And it came to pass, that beasts
came to dwell in that land.
And the beasts became Man and
Man became the beast.
It was a great time of change.
And Man spewed forth words from his mouth
saying:
"Blessed is this land, for it hath many resources.
I will make claim to it and bring it to order."
And with these words came Knowledge.
Henceforth,
all that raised itself was cut down,
the fertile land defiled,
the clear waters made corrupt.
Great boulders were rent asunder in order to build
marble palaces and statues ornamented with
gold and silver, paying homage to Man.
Time passed,
and there came upon that land a great famine.
The fertile land became barren.
Fishes floated in the pestilent waters.
There was no more reaching towards the sky.
In Man's greed Utopia had been dethroned.
Chaos reigned in its place.
All became worthless.
And Man wrestled uneasily with his conscience
knowing he had lost Utopia forever.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2011
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 12:39 PM UTC
WOULD YOU RATHER DIE BY THE MOAT AROUND THE CASTLE, OR BY THE ***** OUT IN THE RAIN?
TORN APART BY THE TERROR OF THE WATERS,
OR BY THE JAWS OF THE ENSLAVED?
Lets reek havoc, we can all take turns
annihilate the whole human race
let us watch this ******* place burn
an eye for an eye, a mangled face
an eye for an eye, a mangled face
destroy this whole decrepit place
decimation of the known race
Lets reek havoc, and see the toll it takes
WOULD YOU RATHER DIE BY THE MOAT AROUND THE CASTLE, OR BY THE ***** OUT IN THE RAIN?
TORN APART BY THE TERROR OF THE WATERS,
OR BY THE JAWS OF THE ENSLAVED?
WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY TO SEE YOUR GOD DETHRONED?
TO SEE THE CHANGE IT BRINGS?
DO YOU WISH TO HEAR THE WARRIORS OF THE APOCALYPSE, AND THE SONGS THEY SING?
SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO SEE IT ALL BURN
TO TEAR IT DOWN AS THE WORLD TURNS
REEKING HAVOC ON THE WHOLE **** PLACE
DESTROYING HISTORY LEAVING NO TRACE
COME ON BACK TO THE WALL AND SEE IF THEY'LL LET YOU IN. GO ON AND ROLL THE DICE, AFTER ALL ALL IT IS YOUR LIFE MY FRIEND
GREEN MEADOWS YOUR BODY LIES BELOW, HANGING BY A THREAD ON THE END
IT WAS REALLY OVER BEFORE IT ALL BEGAN.
DO YOU WANT MISERY TO JOIN THE WORLD NO LONGER ALONE?
TO FREE THEIR TROUBLED SOULS?
DID YOU THINK YOU WOULD ESCAPE YOUR DEMISE
YOU MUST PAY THE TOLL
THERE IS A PRICE FOR LIFE, THAT YOU'LL SOON KNOW
YOURS IS THE LIFE I STOLE.
SOME PEOPLE JUST WANT TO SEE IT ALL BURN
TO TEAR IT DOWN AS THE WORLD TURNS
REEKING HAVOC ON THE WHOLE **** PLACE
DESTROYING HISTORY LEAVING NO TRACE
THIS IS NOT ONE OF THOSE THINGS
WOULD YOU RATHER DIE BY THE MOAT AROUND THE CASTLE, OR BY THE ***** OUT IN THE RAIN?
TORN APART BY THE TERROR OF THE WATERS, OR BY THE JAWS OF THE ENSLAVED?
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
My birth was christened with a curse
but every year those parties were flurries
of bon fires and candle sparklers.
My feet didn't touch the dance floor
it seemed, not once, while
the orchestra was playing
a whirling dervish of a waltz
bangs cropped carefree
across the plains of my tanned face,
swishing and twirling the knee length
pink gown,
kicking off pinching white flats to steal
across the June-hot grounds
only to drift back to father’s feet
for another dance.
The orchestra packs up,
the courtly ladies yawn behind trailing sleeves
as I am tucked in
my bed of feathered down, only to wake up
thirteen years later, with cricks
nestled in the tendons of my neck
and rickety cramps twitching like
the seizure flickering of lightning bugs
through my thighs, as dust billows and rises
with my shifting in the strange light.
Sleeping Beauty wakes up
eighty-seven years ahead of schedule
in the suburbs, the curse a dud
with no prince to sweep her into syrupy swoons
with no words to name this coiling, clammy heat,
this suffocating musk.
I drag my weight
through the two-story house, teaching myself
a new vocabulary
so I can learn to breathe
through the ugly fits of orange tinted panic
at the spider webbed frailty of magic
the kismet pinprick of a spinning wheel
and the helpless sighs of my parents,
a King and Queen dethroned, overthrown
from their untouchable, eternal pedestal.
I couldn't dance
at my next birthday celebration,
when the orchestra was playing
a rollicking rondeau,
mostly because
my hair was too slicked and curled,
framing my fickle new skin,
sitting and twisting a silk napkin in my lap,
ribs locked in the powder blue grip of a whale,
resting poised to turn my toes into graceful
creatures, ten crippled wood nymphs.
To run I would have stumbled,
and it was impossible not to notice that
while we stood, my eyes grazed the top
of father’s thinning, speckled head.
I would break his feet with one more dance.
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 8:24 PM UTC
by his betrayal to the dormant blood flow of life
in moonlight who preaches insanity, anarchy,
who taunts the wicked mind in its present neutrality
where the provocation is of being blank and yet overbearing,
such accentuates the interim shadows etched into a dirtied slate,
thus that light that kills makes his mind primitive, soul, sedate,
and apart from all, his body who became its own ruler
spectral projections in his image surfaced
as the fingertips ripped through its own ribcage
and dethroned His Hapless Majesty in repressed rage
and an animated husk continued forth
even though the hostless spirit was delicate in its wake,
so free from each others' demands, the two had liberties to take.
and so thus they spent decades in total alienation
but in time, like a king with no subjects, the Mind wavered so,
and the Frame, like a guardian with no duty, faltered the same,
and like clockwork, fate had cursed the two that one became,
and by the moon's blinding and blank light a revelation held
that craving ensued for the beings to become whole again,
as the Mind haunted folklore, the Frame men,
as a means of searching, to reunite and rest as an ultimatum.
and they keep searching
a mindless body, and a bodiless mind
perhaps never to reunite
in punishment of denouncing their being
it was a truth he sought,
though never foreseeing the truth he forgot.
it was a race to command insanity and misery.
Nov 5, 2018
Nov 5, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
I never write my words to make you smile,
rather, to make me be loved by your love.
I still keep waiting under this old oak tree
to where I want you beside here with me;
we will watch the sun sets along the horizon,
and together read the lines of my poems.
This feelings worth fighting for, the problem,
if you accept it for you to be dethroned.
I need you to be my queen under my castle,
under the heart full of wishes and dreams,
you will not find emptiness behind my walls
I will be with you till this world will end,
and I never write my words to make you smile,
rather, to make me be loved by your love.
Jul 15, 2012
Jul 15, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
110417
Come awake my soul
Come awake in love
I call You justice in hopelessness
Strong tower in the midst of roaring oceans.
There’re sleepless children on the street
Lying lips in abandonment
Redemption seems to have no beauty
Purpose in debris in the cellar of doubt.
One thirst, one pangs of hunger
Freedom has no speech
Oh come unto the Nations
Bring healing to the City of bones.
Our landmark is Your territory
As You left Your throne but You’re never dethroned
Sin and death were left with no pride
No chains of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.
Death has no beauty until Your blood was shed
Birth has no meaning until You conquered the grave
You tore away the veil of sickness
Everything You restore
Like nothing was stolen.
Your power assures me I am free
There’s no condemnation, I am loved by You
Filled in You, I am found in Your Truth
Drowning in grace,
You’re my Living Proof.
You break the chains
As we confess Your Name
Now, victory has a Name
Love has a Name
Jesus is His Name!
Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 8:02 AM UTC