"scourging" poems
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
#*Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
Who are these? Why sit they here in twilight?
Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
Baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?
Stroke on stroke of pain, - but what slow panic,
Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms
Misery swelters. Surely we have perished
Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?
- These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
Treading blood from lings that had loved laughter.
Always they must see these things and hear them,
Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
Carnage incomparable, and human squander
Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.
Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
Back into their brains, because on their sense
Sunlight seems a blood-smear; night comes blood-black;
Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh.
- Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
- Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.
2.2k
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
Bruising,kicking,clubbing,
chanting,ranting,yelling,
from afar their judgement is pronounced,
scourging,ravaging,encompassed,
their foes enmassed,
as their woes crawles to them.
Ensnared in rageous mobbing.
No attention given,
Brutally abased at fraternities delight,
Blood splitting,
Blood gushing,
sands soaks in blood,
as of mud from heavy downpour,
fraternities yelling,mobs cheering.
As their lynching delights them all.
No saviour!
No mercy!
Woe!
Woe!
Woe!
They rants in accord,
from their chamber miserable voices screams.
Only but whispers heard,
in cold fatique voices.
One said i am
not guilty!
another said we
only came
to collect what
he owed me!
Another said i
live in heaven
where milk and
honey flows
i lack nothing,i
am innocent
another said
yesterday
i paid my
tuition,i paid my
dues i am
innocent.
In cold blooded,
lynched them
all.
their hell fire
came to them
alive
they were burnt
they were
wasted
as of unwanted
beasts!
oh! Aluu what
have you done?!
Who were those
innocent 4 you
killed??
Don't you know
the pain of
mothers labour
at birth?!
They are not
different from
you
they feel pain!
they feel torture!
they feel torment!
wont you
scream if i club
you?
won't you flee if
i burn you fire?!
They sought to
flee
they sought to
hide
they pled for
mercy
but you were
their miserable
nightmares!
You were there
foes ragging in
woes massacre!!!
The boys were
your children
they were your
brothers
oh! Merciless
Aluu!!!
What have you
done to the
futures untold?
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:28 AM UTC
Drawing upon the core of my being, I muster up the strength to survive.
Stepping into another plane of existence; one in which I have no capacity to resist toxicity; I am vulnerable.
A juggernaut lies at the end of the daylight hours; soft in temper and yet scourging in it’s pronouncements.
This is a being with no malicious intent; a sentinel guarding the sacred caliber of a spirit under divine instruction.
Darkness pervades in the form of light; I can sense a façade of purity within the confines of my bones.
This fortress that I have traversed into is infected with a murky haze looming just above the skies.
Escape is my only option; if I remain here it will be my demise.
When the juggernaut arrives, trepidation will electrify my soul; it will animate me.
Fear consumes me with every waking second I’m in it’s midst.
-This gargantuan being understands-
Empathy cannot save me however, once the utterances of ancient spirit inflict scathing wounds upon me in the name of humanity.
Attempting to rescue me from the tumult of the planet does not obscure the pain and heartache of compassionate words.
Wisdom lies within this walking tome; statue-esque maiden.
I have used my discernment as a bulwark; protection from wounds of sensitivity lies in detachment from myself.
I have come to realize that supplication does have a purpose.
-To plea with the remnants of a long forgotten world-
I am overwhelmed with euphoria when I realize that my fears have been nothing but stymie.
Fleeting in nature; they whispered to me of my incapacity to reach the heart of a relic growing wiser by the minute.
There is no judgment to be passed and I have been emancipated from the shackles of a foreshadowing past.
It leads to my genesis; the day when I shall be lifted up past all my iniquity.
Until that day, I await the metamorphosis of an ailing planet.
The Juggernaut does have a purpose.
This maiden shall be a beacon amongst the tumult of the seasons.
I shall look to her as a guide and honesty is what shall pervade from her lips.
In trueness she shall bestow her utterances upon me.
Like the sweetest honey, her words will befall my eardrums.
Internalization spurs a chemical reaction within me.
I am changing.
I have been enveloped by blinding rays of light.
The darkness is no match for the spiritual sinew that I possess.
I am growing by the second… I am growing prayer by prayer.
-Amen-
By Iridescently Efflorescent
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:30 AM UTC
Thoughts of the self-spoken
Left me wandering;
Tangled into the parable visions
As we gaze through the celestial eerie.
Mirrors from side to side,
I still can't see the myself inside.
Mazy patterns were confusing my mind.
Despicably appropriate,
Whereas the heavens of alas contemplate.
In this empty vast,
We see light from present to past.
Scourging sun diminishes darkness
Over light in distant visionless.
Blinded to see the real vision of the race;
To acknowledge the imagery painted to praise.
Entire race failed to obey,
Garner the intellect of marionettes strings,
Puppets of the mischief,
Puppeteers of a sheep,
The scent of the blood,
Descends a ripple from hate.
Cast the spell upon yourself,
And let the bloodshot eyes tell
How it visions the dark world's hell.
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
Incendiary asperity:
The world's existentiality
Agony, the Merciless & Mercenary
Scourging me entirely.
The Angst of the Aeons
Are the pedigree, the genealogy, the history borne to emancipate Me as a Vessel of Sanctity
For the valiant souls
Are the souls of transcendence, who revere in remembrance
The Amour of the Yore
My Vestibule Heart
Expands, contracts, being consecrated demands just as
Starry-Wombed the Cosmos, we
Must grow, burgeon through our learning & yearning, deserving & pining for the Promise of Morrow
For we were not formed
To wallow in sorrow.
As I gaze to the heavens
O, ***** and Gomorrah I remember
The Wife of Lot looks back forever: emblazoned as a Petrified December,
Then Fire & Sulphur descended, mankind nearly ended;
What is the lesson?
Of faith we are descendants.
Why do you
Roil my ravaged and brutally savaged soul?
Must bitterness be the wage for days spent having prayed
On my knees, for armistice, by The Empyrean One’s decree?
Though I have fallen,
I shall rise up
For the Fate’s Auric Visage radiates light upon the leaven,
Dost ferment the flesh dominating mine spirit.
Hearkening to
The susurrus of the Sovereign of Songbird’s Sacrosanct Love.
Let the Ethereal Tides of Time
Bathe me in baptismal & divine tribulation, trial
For a writhing while,
Sacrality is a war,
The Primal Instinct’s Immemorial Diminuendo.
Where has fake paradise of the Sylvan Shine
Those forested, emerald Eyes
That glisten in mine dreams gone?
Your visage twas my divine.
Though I am forlorn,
The Cosmo-Plexus of Empyreal Love hath sworn
To the Days of Yore
That I shall soar once more.
To my Enfettered Soul,
Excelsior.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
In grandeur of eminence the Sun celebrates her power
In the thick forest of the darkest the Moon flourishes in her glory
The tidal wave is in tinder of a brand new glory, catching fire of a mad harmattan, refining gold and diamond in the expansive field of a glitzy pearl
And transcendence on our way it's roaring of the tidal wave, uprooting dark moons and burying scourging suns in infernal graves!
See our warriors surfing on the tidal wave of this season of victorious glory,
manifesting us to the world, declaring the glory of the Glory, shooting pearly flames in clouds of glory and power
As quotidian stinging tides are being uprooted in routing defeat with eerie eruption of volcano of joy and power in uncommon grandeur.
Oh! Alluring sun of glory
Oh! Alluring moon of majesty
Festooning our sky with power-stars
As rain of victory drowning us in splendor!
Oh! Tidal wave of beatific season, harvesting us barn-full glory at morning dawn of the victory crow!
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 3:17 AM UTC
Spikes form from the skin
Splitting ends to poke out their eyes
Spitting acid to stifle the cries
A Shield of bitterness stinging
Images seen singing into my memory
Dissipate into a mass of spiders, fleas and mosquitoes
to spread my disease as fast as possible
Hopping, buzzing and crawling slowly... but surely
scourging and scouring bearing down every waking hour
biting and binding in beds of web
infecting and swarming
unheeded warnings
irritation and sickness,
a plague of anger global anguish
pain and unhappiness.
Nothing left for me.
I'll be gone soon
With nothing to show but a festering wound.
I opened up and everything fell out.
Now all I can do is drag my feet through my intestines and feelings
As I trudge away in defeat.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC
I'm out here- barely knowing why
Thump, ooze, cringe, wince
Oh, that's why
I'm coming to with drained, unwilling eyes
Stipped of all guards with inconsiderate abuse
Tied down by angels of nostalgia
Without given a second thought,
I'm left alone with myself
Left defenseless to the wrath of the dark nothing
Each icy lash leaves five internally
Out here- in the dead of winter, the scourging is barely felt
The eternal brand is a thing of beauty
How could something so perfect come to be with no effort, no thought?
At least it will be over soon, right?
This punishment has lasted long enough hasn't it?
Why am I where in the first place? ---
Oct 10, 2010
Oct 10, 2010 at 4:07 PM UTC
Don't dismiss her,
You don't know her.
She is a fierce little *****
Comes out fighting,
Sharp and biting.
All you see is teeth,
All you hear is the scourging scream of a feral female fox,
Yet...you don't know...
When you're hurting she will gentle
as if you are her vulnerable pup.
She will tend, and mend,
And care for you,
Defend you endlessly against all reason,
Against her reason,
She will defy her own moral code
To keep you safe,
To show you how deeply and how strongly you are loved.
You don't know
How she is,
You can't know
What she is,
You will never know
How precious she is.
Dog that you are,
She is not your *****
Don't dismiss her,
You don't know her.
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
Sinuous the smoke
Tainting serene summer sights
Flaming, scourging plight.
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 2:39 PM UTC
Whilst a medley of us lied upon the flocculent canvas
An ever so comely sound had been shaped of the void
‘Twas the sharp sound of supremacy coming to pass
Though honored am I to speak
Upon the sweltering passion
‘Twas an invitation like none before
Scourging these bones of the dark
Of which they habitually drink
The quaking quite mollifyingly
Renders a sense of solidarity
To unfathomable tribulation
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 3:31 PM UTC
a bird on a wire
anxiously tweets
outside my
Good Friday
pane
The Carl Vinson
battle group
plies the China Seas
rolling through waves
like a deadly
Tsunami
MOABS plaster
mountainsides,
commanders are
certain the right
bomb, for the right job
produced a righteous
body count
Tomahawks strafe
another Syrian
neighborhood, already
desperately choking on
the stench of corpses
“Crucify Him!”
They shout
“We want blood!”
“Give em a
good scourging”
Before we place
a crown of thorns
on his head
Let the blood drip
pierce him with
a pike, let it all
spill out
The pundits
sanctify the
sacraments
of death with
strategic acuity
Just another day
in a closer walk
with Thee, for the
Pilgrims of Sorrow
Music: Soul Stirrers,
Pilgrim of Sorrow
Painting:
The Road of Sorrows
Nina Marchenko
Good Friday 2017
Lavallette NJ
jbm
Apr 14, 2017
Apr 14, 2017 at 6:08 PM UTC
Suffocating in this state of mind
Like a grain of soil
On the wall of a
perpetually filling
Bottomless pit.
All stale
and collapsing mud.
I can’t breathe
And it is dark in here
In this silence
In this wet and stifling
***** blanket
Of thin smiles
That veil
filth and dirt.
Gritty, I can taste discontent
( restlessness stirred, agitated, weeping)
Like a thorn in the side
Of this torn and invisibly stitched mouth.
My fingers bleed
And doubt seeds
Vicious weeds inside
An already
sick and nauseated mind.
There is hurt in here
And pain
And the bittersweet unspoken
refrain
Of one lost in their
Own directionless
Domain.
These walls I built, alone.
That stare back careless
And greet me daily with their
Cold embrace.
In this darkness, alone,
I, us, we,
cry.
Small children,
Whimpering in this feeling
of self chafed friction.
Whining,
each whine followed by
Gutteral, viscous, primal mutterings
These madman
Me, myself and i
Locked in a tunnel
Without light
It is cold and we want so badly
To relight the fire
I
claw at the fortification
I have erected
Around myself
Then bleed some more
Until the walls in front of me turn from
la mort noire to
rouge de sang
Sitting here
In this
Abyss.
Blinded by the inability to see
The incapacity to feel
Anything but the feeling of failure.
This powerlessness to heal,
All sealed up and drowning
in my private pool of mud.
Still it is dark in here,
And wet,
And bloodied
And brooding.
The cold walls are soothing
And the veil still acts
To conceal
The extent of filth
Scourging up the walls
Of this inaudible and bidding cave.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
I make a giant stride
on the sun's face and
walk barefooted
on acres of burning
coals to make a slave
of the scourging power
of generations .
I ride on the moon to
catch the pleasure of
the running away
beauty and harvest the
rumbustious golden dawn
of the radiant rainbows.
Then ten witches of Endor
kidnapped me in exchange
for ten pieces of silver
but left thousand
and one witches dead
in my white flame!
Feb 21, 2019
Feb 21, 2019 at 1:47 AM UTC
How should I thank the Lord,
Who loved us so much that He sent His only Son from the throne in Heaven,
To the scourging, beating, and humiliation of His own people
Lash after lash upon His back, cracking and aching as others mocked?
Thirsty, hungry, tired, feeling alone,
Gushing blood from the pounding of long, rusty iron nails upon a splintered wooden cross,
One in each hand,
One in each foot,
As the sun beat His Holiest face,
And the birds loomed overhead,
As the sweat and blood solution on His thinning form
Dropped in pools on the ground.
With only pure love in His eyes and His voice,
Clean, Righteous, Holy, Deserving, offering His own life and every possession and good thing,
With only our best interests in mind,
As sinners listened to His Wisdom, they pounded the nails in all the deeper.
As the scathing heat, imprisonment, torment,
Even locked in a prison before carrying His own cross to die upon,
Denied before His own friends, His brothers and sisters,
He cried "I thirst" from the cross,
Tired, aching, hurting, agonizing.
And despite all,
Despite all He had endured,
His words were,
"Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do."
How should I thank the Lord
Who has done all those things?
There will never be enough.
Lord, forgive me, for I am a fool.
Your forgiveness, salvation, and love are so precious, and how could I ever comprehend them or explain them?
Lord Jesus Christ, I love You and thank You,
Though that could never be enough.
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 6:56 PM UTC
The flags once whipped in the wind
thrown about by turmoil's teeth
while the motion caused concern
there was guidance in what was felt
surety in direction’s lead
first to west and then to east
this was the past once confirmed
by sightings that tugged the heart
the fraying began in plain sight
subtle to those who watched the signs
inconsequential by small measure
until the damage took its toil
the banners began to fail
as the colors fade away
threads lost to the savage gusts
diminished streamers no longer whole
storms lost their hold on the world
this was the lie of vision’s source
when indicators became mute
implying quiet instead of strife
hurricanes may be present
scourging souls without mercy
while the flags no longer wave
missing from their lofty perch.
© 2018. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20180710.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC
The love that lies down to dust is no stronger against the waves.
The love that lies onto a rock will find its fate and never falters.
Just like the sun that burns a farmer’s drying skin
A man may feel the scourging heat of a heart in pain.
When a heart so heavy in pain is like the heavy clouds in the sky,
You can’t hold the water but you’ll rather choose to let it fell from the eyes.
Let every drop of tear fall, so that it’ll water your soul.
Tears! So tears to ease a throbbing temple.
How can we fix what’s broken to bring it back together?
Healing is not as easy as that, you’ll say move on! That’s the fact!
Does that really mend the broken parts?
The truth is, it does heal. Indeed! It has.
But the wound will leave a scar
Wherein some parts are nowhere to be found,
That part, so small is a bunch of pain when recalled.
But it finds a way through, to love the sorrow.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
On a cotton-pyrethrum-rubber-sisal-canes plantations
In a coal, copper, iron, ores mines excavations
*** on hand, basket on back, metal bowl on head
Sun burning high as hell’s brutal blazes
Snow falling furiously as Vikings vitriol violence
Coal furnaces fuming as sulfurous fiery flames
Bent backs, bare butts, naked feet
White snow-balls quick picks
‘Niglets’ tagged besides or behind their parents spent backs
Bruised fingers, blistered hands, bleeding arms-palms
Boulder rocks rolls, bronze bowls lifts
Each sad with each, low grumbles
For master behind a beast is in watch
His scourging whip eager to swoosh
At any slight rubber swing switch
And leave a dear wound pain sorrowful only to oneself
Brothers sorrowful, tears rolls down
Their torn cheeks and chins
As thorns thrusts severe ****** his fingers
Swift he leaks sweet the crimson squirt before on fur-fluffs spills-
The white ***** is to be as pure as its breeds brands *****
And on he urges the pounding pains on
Brother damaged shoulders wracks
Tired feet him lags the long rugged wound up the mines holes
Sisters sad sobs, grimaces her faces
As thistles prickles her pretty arms-palms
Teary she withholds her agonies
The master is not supposed to see tears or tires
And on she begs her aches
For in the evening the mercy
Will be at the scales tilt
Not much the ****** and pains endured
Child on a pillory is crucified
And mum he watches with bitterness his helpless father
And big brothers molested-mistreated-mutilated hopelessly
Tied on trialing poles pain pulling his mangled muscles
Silent in pain she grieves irately her haplessly mother
And small sisters routinely ***** helplessly
Master is a monster who freely picks and haves who he wants
But as necessity knows no law!
Sufferings enough begins to bottle
Slowly struggles begins to battle
In ****** farms revolutions starts to swell
******* in noose and nooks dare their scares
Till liberty little returns ending
Barbaric brutality of spread slavery
And Negroes became a bit legal.....
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 28, 2017
Feb 28, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
Thought of the fairest hooyo
Is a hue to dab on you.
‘Red’ would tinge a thing or two:
Oily drips on the apple skin.
Cubic glass that sprinkles rays
Mixed with brilliant sparkling smiles.
That you are in white as the sun
Only sieved of scourging warmth.
Afro-brown has joined the queue;
The melon bulb that’s packaged soft.
Mummy’s nurse that props my head:
Food and rest in dermal bronze.
In the night, your colour glows;
Leave me not in colour blind.
Pledging scent that cuddles me,
Shadow not your penal self.
As you peck my lips to sleep
Halfway through some lullaby,
Eyes and cheeks in Snitcher’s love
Just so real in whitish-blue.
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 5:26 AM UTC
the day is passing like a riot
a cloud of people
chant the jailbird's song
a string of placards
encircled the throng
a meteoric rise in the atmosphere
has reigned in the souls of many a fist....
the heart of a crowd
is listening wildly
to speeches and voices
emphasizing a point
and views that each and
everybody shares
a unity that binds the masses
there is one man
that head the arms and bodies
of this throng
and he comes on strong
to those who have done
the nation wrong
a slim and simple being
seeing, seeking and wanting
some changes
some soothing replacement
to this scourging arrangement
the sun shines through him
and although wounded with scars
knowing one cell to the other,
he keeps the challenge
in his soul
and tried to reach a porch
in the sun
for his people, for his children
and for all that will come,
after him.....
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
What greater expression
Of selfless love could be shown?
What greater love
Could ever be known?
The sinless for the sinner
On the cross to die
Loving even those
That screamed "CRUCIFY!"
Not to mention the scourging
That before took place
Beaten so badly
You'd hardly recognize His face
But death couldn't hold Him
As He came forth from the grave
For those who believe
To eternally save
I know many believe
This but a myth or fable
But not me my friends
For I know, my God is able!!
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:43 AM UTC