"testifies" poems
White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
And leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
It's time to settle ethnic scores.
No more ragtime Minstrel Show.
Our Moorish Science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
Now move your pale face out of town . . .
But first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.
Cultural pride is ours alone:
Kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
Bedazzle in a darkened blur
(Clear to Africa's descendants—
Puzzling to you white dependents).
Blackness lent your world its light,
Taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
Under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
Helped those Norsemen shake their *****
The Seven Wonders of the world:
We built them all. No vain conjecture
Dims our banner, black, unfurled,
Above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
Are what we threaten to discuss.
We invented math and science
Which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
Caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
Testifies: your days are numbered.
Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
For Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.
Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
Choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
Heed your call to fight the power.
Crackers need to check your race—
Stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
Racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
Your light goes dark (you know it must).
So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
But here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC
A message heart delivered by a musing troubadour
left footprints upon a well weathered rivers’ rocky shoal
the lazy days of the summer’s simmering
ethereal breezes lazily waft astir
Unknown distance ‘tween yonder skies azure;
thoughts of nebulous distances fearlessly ignored to be sure,
connectedness sown and deference’s soar from high above,
yet beyond vast breadth afar the great divide
His brimful heart in hand fulfills passersby thirst
needing love here, hearts on sleeves sincere,
wellspring sensibilities handed out willingly here
voids filled by word of quill …
right now is the known needed time
Glasses half empty suffused to their half full brims;
do unto others you will reap just what ye sow,
a poet beyond the bounds of his own demure,
bearing immense understanding
The quintessential essence of family love
drips from heart like heavens rain,
testifies the heart's purpose for being
A poet’s voice speaks in soul’s timeless tongues
unknown breaths from another understanding realm
too deep for words;
yet the word sayer struggles to see his forest ‘s poetic beauty
for to see beyond the pendant beauty
within its magnificent grandeur
of his own gifted heart’s nurtured trees.
~
The Twist
This poem was not written by me.
It was written almost four years ago,
lying fallow in some passing cloud.
Writ for me by someone effervescently more talented than I,
and one of the poets whose quality of work, and command of our shared language is something to which all of us should aspire.
I post it now as yet another homage to the true author.
For in reading it, never was a poem was far more clearly,
an unwitting self-portrait.
**It was written on August 21st, 2013
by Harlon Rivers**
by Nat Lipstadt
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:53 PM UTC
O Lord of all compassionate control,
O Love! let this my lady’s picture glow
Under my hand to praise her name, and show
Even of her inner self the perfect whole:
That he who seeks her beauty’s furthest goal,
Beyond the light that the sweet glances throw
And refluent wave of the sweet smile, may know
The very sky and sea-line of her soul.
Lo! it is done. Above the long lithe throat
The mouth’s mould testifies of voice and kiss,
The shadowed eyes remember and foresee.
Her face is made her shrine. Let all men note
That in all years (O Love, thy gift is this!)
They that would look on her must come to me.
4.8k
Windmills
Life’s short
From the gate
Better use time well
Spend sparingly
And wait
For your chance to dwell
Forever comes
Sooner than later
More often than never
When millions of men deny
Windmills spin
And time testifies
As an eye-witness
It spent
Like seconds
Collected as you went
Saw dust dance in the air
Took for granted
Then used as evidence
Of what happens
When we go
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
Tick Tock Lane
A sign that caused my head to crane
In time my wonder got to me
So Googled what there was to see
And so I saw to my horror
The story of Elmer the clock maker
He killed his wife
And did some time
Then married again
Those wedding bells chimed
In two years time Elmer's no more
Two men came shooting
New wife and Elmer
His wife survives
She testifies
"This is for Ma" is what I heard...
Tick Tock Tick Tock
Was time finally served
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
The subway air feels like pudding. It's thick, and as clingy as water. When you take a shower at night - and you should always take a shower at night, unless you want to sleep with the city - you can feel the air instantly liquify and drain away.
The memories leave marks on your skin, if you let them. The bruises on your sides from bumping unique people; the cut on your head from hitting a pole; the ache in your heels from walking too far. You're experiences hang on your skin, and shine through your eyes.
New York is unique because of her variety. She's strong because of her diversity. She grows because of her adaptability. New York is a jungle of human-animals trying to survive.
The smell of opportunity is stronger than the potent *** of other smells: the ***** rodent-infested tracks, frequent homeless sleeping quarters, grungy, old costumes on Times Square.
She is life; she is alive.
If you're alone or together you are always a part - a piece that makes it what it is. Without you the city survives. She has, and will. But without you, she's not what she is with you. Even if she tried.
People flow trough her streets as uniquely as blood runs through your veins. The heart orchestrates the motion, while the blood does the dance. she lives and breaths through each person's lungs. Each one arrives for a particular reason - even if for no reason at all. Our arrival helps her breath.
The anticipation before arriving in New York - not the Big Apple, no one calls it that - is enough to deprive a voyager of sleep on incoming flights. Even at 11:45 p.m. The jungle of buildings, built in perfect chaos testifies someone saw the bigger picture. A person may only see a foot, or a year in front of their face. New York saw far ahead, and high above.
Everyone is welcome. Some never leave. Permanently or temporarily, New York will take you in as long as you stay. She may hold on a little too long.
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 2:32 AM UTC
How can Belfast be so cold?
a breeze in a summer front
the unpredictable British weather
Of intermittent warmth and dull
drizzles of a torrential fizzle
The titanic stands erected
stilled by the western winds
In stiles as robust as steel
as shadowy silverly specks
reflect on the unused puddles
Southwards to the coastal shores
where green shimmers magnify
and blue waters justly testifies
of the beauty of the north-eastern waters
flowing from one glen to another
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:10 AM UTC
YES, the Dead speak to us.
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness.
Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here
And when two living men fall out, when one says the Dead spoke a Yes, and the other says the Dead spoke a No, they go then together to this house.
They loosen the clamps and haul at the hasps and try their keys and curse at the locks and the combination numbers.
For the teeth of the rats are barred and the tongues of the moths are outlawed and the sun and the air of wind is not wanted.
They open a box where a sheet of paper shivers, in a dusty corner shivers with the dry inkdrops of the Dead, the signed names.
Here the ink testifies, here we find the say-so, here we learn the layout, now we know where the cities and farms belong.
Dead white men and dead red men tested each other with shot and knives: they twisted each others' necks: land was yours if you took and kept it.
How are the heads the rain seeps in, the rain-washed knuckles in sod and gumbo?
Where the sheets of paper shiver,
Back of the hasps and handles,
Back of the fireproof clamps,
They read what the fingers scribbled, who the land belongs to now-it is herein provided, it is hereby stipulated-the land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thorn-apple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops-
So it is scrawled here,
"I direct and devise
So and so and such and such,"
And this is the last word.
There is nothing more to it.
In a shanty out in the Wilderness, ghosts of to-morrow sit, waiting to come and go, to do their job.
They will go into the house of the Dead and take the shivering sheets of paper and make a bonfire and dance a deadman's dance over the hissing crisp.
In a slang their own the dancers out of the Wilderness will write a paper for the living to read and sign:
The dead need peace, the dead need sleep, let the dead have peace and sleep, let the papers of the Dead who fix the lives of the Living, let them be a hissing crisp and ashes, let the young men and the young women forever understand we are through and no longer take the say-so of the Dead;
Let the dead have honor from us with our thoughts of them and our thoughts of land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thornapple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops.
2k
I can never compensate for the poems I have misplaced,
Yet I proceed to shed sincere ink upon an empty canvas,
and revert towards elusive answers.
I once again resort to the preferred instrument,
And stumble into a liberating trance.
However, genuine introspection often
Unearths wretched recurring recollections,
That have served as the creative source
For previous poetry collections,
Some of which cannot be read
Without a deep sense of dread,
Hence I flinch from acknowledgment instead.
How disoriented am I?
As disoriented as 20 year old Kimberly
Her derelict of a son is an embodiment
Of her youth blues memories.
How aimless it must be to venture
Amidst the sanctum of stagnation.
It was not long before even the architect
Began to disdain his own laborious creation.
Why wouldn't he?
He was a fool to build
A foundation out of complacency.
The structure is able to endure
Since it thrives off of a perpetual tragedy
Of self-defeating beliefs, lascivious senses,
And misguided aspirations.
Unfortunately, whoever it houses
Collapses out of utter exasperation.
An inevitable predicament I predict
Will confront me as soon as I deteriorate mentally.
The sanctum itself testifies to an aphorism
I recount hearing during a melancholic plight:
Truthfully, throughout the ages,
Fallibility has always been
Among humanity's playwrights.
6/18/13
(c) 2013 Brandon Antonio Smith
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
"who brainwashed you?"
asks the man
who feeds himself
to the nation's most beloved narcissist,
casts himself down its gullet,
and takes a seat in its stomach
three times a week
who mindlessly
propagates the propaganda
he declares to be doctrine
he testifies like truth
who would deny
God's holocaust,
would gas truthful love
in his basement,
burn the bodies
and burn the ashes,
the free minded ****
who hates the situation
but does nothing to change it.
"oh, this used to be the land of the free!"
drunk on self-righteousness,
inebriated waste.
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 10:29 AM UTC
By cold logic you arrive,
not through panic nor insanity,
for they are something separate.
You recall those who witnessed,
through blinded eye the beginnings.
Those seemingly oblivious of your falling to this place,
and who could offer no sanctuary or escape.
In your mind the inaction testifies, of a value you no longer hold.
Not just in your place of open eyed awareness,
But also in their world of illusion,
where you no longer belong.
There are two pathways ahead.
But only one will each choose according to their need.
Emotional pain made into the physical
Or the ending of pain both felt and caused, both past and future.
At the beginning and in the intermediate,
the times when cries for help prevailed.
Not consciously shouted but through changes,
altered interaction with the world as it once was.
To those who bore witness to beginning and middle,
at this stage comes the "why?".
"I saw it"...."Why did I not see this outcome?".... "I knew",???
To those who have not been here,
There seems to be no logic,
They cannot see from where they stand the simple rationale.
So contrary and beyond sight
that only the tag of insanity gives explanation.
At the beginners guide just so the numbers who sought to read.
At the intermediate a lesser number could give an interest.
The despair of others an unwanted knowledge and the readings so reflect a reality best kept unvoiced... too disturbing to the ear.
And fewer now here... dear reader... eyes uneducated still asking why.... you few are too late to understanding and by now despair has been defeated.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 5:04 AM UTC
How much longer must we stand here
As the waters continue to rise
We are a people, a Holy nation
Waiting on the coming tide
With the knowledge of what we hope for
Having confidence in this
That our God and mediator
Will judge all in His righteousness
While here we all must suffer
As this earth is not our home
Making clear we have another
As the Spirit testifies in moans
Awaiting the day the good Lord frees us
Letting him have his way and will
Relying on his word to daily free us
Till every Jot and Tittle is filled
How much longer must we stand here
As the waters continue to rise
We your people, your Holy nation
Waiting daily on the coming tide
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
I'm not afraid to do the Lord's work.
You say Vengeance was here before,
but i say i was there first.
I'll do my business in the name of the Lord
because its no secret.
If you're not ready to die
best prepare for it and await its coming.
My testimony testifies
longing for your sincere replies
You can always call the police,
call the coroner,
call the sheriff,
call the entire fearless hood.
I put my fears in my holster,
smoke the cold breeze
win the ladies with two knees
and stand tall like the street lights.
I know the pleasure
in a man's strength.
Heaven comes down
like a cold rain.
There would be no shelter for the weak-hearted.
No place you can go.
Put all your hands and fists in wild cheer,
someone put a tall ring amongst us,
caging us both.
I'm a vigilante,
you're a wanted man
and everybody knows
Traces of The Whip
at my back.
Its deep, dark and long
because i have a history
The sun shone
My head struck
My mind fuzzy,
The searing heat.
Alas!
Reminiscencing can be such a wierd mental journey.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 1:28 PM UTC
Empathetic approaches toward visible emotion implicating restriction due to poverty-stricken conditions
Individuals subconsciously cultivating humility through the aching; elucidating the difficulties of day-to-day intricacies
All these tangible commodities can leave you in poverty; give of yourself to those experiencing less fortunate circumstances to truly win the lottery
Today, I am grateful for a plateful; this flavorful life testifies while I sympathize.
Oct 28, 2014
Oct 28, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Although I too have forgotten my lines
today's celluloid seems to be shedding its script
the raw talent confers a lack of oomph.
Only my projection screen follows perfection.
I'm caught in a nitrate web,
with partaken beauty firing
my basement dreams,
onward choices amongst Colleen Moore
and Blanche Sweet
testifies professionalism spoke eloquently without words
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
The problem,
blemish on the proplan
to insist the culture oaths essential
for any child any where at any time,
to be so informed,
as to belief-lock all value sets,
hell is real
and the mind
that imagined hell willed
it's lasting benefit,
in the enterprise
of enslaving free will, inducing submission,
rites of inclusion, to where ever, after dying
in the faith, whatever faith, theevidentone.
But look, it has a non lying Jesus,
how can we not now hold ourselves true?
Let this mind
be in yo… pret-near your own idea, here, I see,
just so happens to have reportedly sent his son,
history testifies this does give heft to some ideas,
samsara,
generational curses,
religious induced left brain mastery.
Ever after, always, predictably next phase.
There is a proverb warning mindful future you,
fetchit, step in to my retirement,
as any well known personality may assure you,
little
worth, beats none… and often one
is tempted to rationalize, set an example, note,
quote the heroic image saying,
never, never, never quit.
softly mmmumbleitsallbullshat.
Mar 1, 2023
Mar 1, 2023 at 4:06 PM UTC
I am an introspective extravert inexplicably exerting determination and ********** of normativity in my delivery. I am a Neo-narcissist, a true self-arsonist surrounded by crumbling spires of self-respect, yet I refuse to neglect my superior intellect, but my ego exemplifies my worst and testifies to my selfish intents and purposes and even worse is, my flaws. And now all I can do is pause and reflect upon what made up, makes up the mind of man in me and whether or not we are all slowing, and lazily going crazy or just me.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 6:04 AM UTC
In the star spangled darkness
There is a hint of a beginning,
The night's permeating silence
Testifies a temporary lull
Before the earth delivers…
Another rebirth!
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Focus on the pain, as life goes rolling by—
The darkness shreds my soul, leaving
A trail of ***** soul-crumbs wherever I tread,
A testament to pain endured.
His love-grace comes thundering down, drowning
Me in Presence divine; hope like an eternal
Flame flickering bright in midst of wind-swept
Plains, still throwing out its light.
A wanderer, I am—restless in the thoughts of life, a
Seeming never-ending search for meaning,
For comfort, for light. So I move on, neither here
Nor there—lost, alone!
His light follows, goes ahead; a beacon searching,
Spilling forth the way one step beyond,
Along the path of my life—the life He
Gives, desires that I live.
An attempt to hide, I flee this path of life, of destiny
Laid out before—to live a life my own, it
Seems. Further away—the light begins to
Fade—as darkness cloaks my soul.
Yet up ahead, flickering in the midst of heavy
Limbs, of trees of worries, fears—the
Light is there still—ahead! I see it behind,
Before—never leaves?
I’m His, I know, the light testifies to presence
Divine; chasing off my soul-darkness still.
My soul repaired, I wander to His love, His arms—
Focus on His love as life goes rolling by…
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 8:14 AM UTC
How can I know about death
When I know so little about life
What assurance can I offer?
What martyr has spoken to me?
What folded flag offers wisdom?
The place of my birth is a story I was told
The life I have lived is as weak as my strength to tell it
No one claps as I ascend the stairs
Only my daughter and son guide my lonely steps
What vows can I offer to a past that testifies against me
I raise my hand to no man
For what I swear to you serves no purpose
The setting sun returns silently
As long as I live I can only live day by day
And pray that you to believe in me by night
Whatever code I honor
I will not speak of it
It will burn silently inside my heart
Upon my last breath you may lay a wreath
And as it falls upon the fire that was once my body
Do not cover my eyes with the coins of Caesar
Let them instead see you from the other side
For the vision I bring to our Lord are not the words of a man
But instead the gift of you that I return to his womb
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
Cheers to us I'll say,
Even towards the obvious end.
Fashionably spelled with
Acrylic resin across my skin
As a daily reminder,
As if I would forget
Beauty's creator.
Your power of alchemy
First revealed to me
As a warped hole inside
A 6th grade English
Composition book.
The absence of friendship
Invoked your name.
You've epitomized
Loyalty ever since,
My work testifies to it.
I couldn't be any
More grateful.
(c) 2015 Brandon Antonio Smith
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:49 AM UTC
why would ever thought become a therefore of being, a parallel pairing, well, i can imagine why, uncertain thinking gave birth and girth of uncertain being, but uncouple thinking from being and couple it to knowledge, how sooner the reminders encountered whereby expressing thinking with being as equal is lost, and thinking after the divorce from being finds a second partner, namely knowledge: and the men who stare at goats? sooner thinking and knowledge coupled than thinking and being, i do know that the former example eradicates thinking per se, but it also leaves us with pure intuition / knowledge / automation, which means less concern for a subsidiary of broken bones and unaffected brains to be worth a coupling - the former attempt eradicates this shadowy narcissism that the latter invigorates with how the outside is already defaulting the inside with c.c.t.v.
you will not eat the fruit
of the tree of knowing good from evil,
since upon eating the fruit
you will not think -
you will know but will not think -
and this will be a demise
you will claim to be supreme
as the foremost expression adequate -
thus upon eating the fruit
the wages of your labour
you will know more than you desired,
and will too think less than
could be inspired - not a question
of writing a pillar-like autobiography
but a question of writing a biography at all..
to eat from a tree of knowledge:
whether dual or by mono inspired -
serves no bearing -
hence the modern fable akin to brothers
Aesop and Grimm,
that he who eats the fruit of the tree of knowledge
will not eat the fruit of the tree of thought,
hence the dichotomy rather than a duality,
hence the monism rather than the monasticism -
and he who eats of the tree of knowledge
will look upon a pauper in a scene of
agricultural foreboding with much insolence -
for he who eats from the tree of knowledge
whatever the vector, whether into zenith
of good, or whether into the zenith
of evil, will know neither being reached,
for thought will become the orient conjunction
of or being accumulative:
that good (thought) will be as puzzle-muddled
with evil (knowledge) as may be allow -
or as the Libra testifies - that knowledge is
evil and thought via continuum narratio is good;
but still gladly i too fabricating celestial bodies
with a lifespan of cats aged prior to 30 (if pedigree).
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 8:38 PM UTC
Lydia loves the Lord...
Sees no reason not
Takes him at his word
Through battles being fought
The Spirit in her testifies
The God of Love
Is the giver of life
And that is why
Lydia loves the Lord...
Still sometimes she's afraid
Of the world that's just outside
And what it would make her give away
People speak in whispers
But she won't answer in kind
To make it through this life
And that is why
Lydia loves the Lord...
Knows it's worth the fight
Wise beyond her years
Beauty holds her tight
In and out is clear
A blessing she is here
As clear as day and night
And that is why
Lydia loves the Lord...
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
Wild poets stylizing
beating the drum that must be heard:
Call from the depths that ancient heart beat,
Fill that genie *** a word.
Snaking, Smoking, Slithering,
abundant with passionate lashing,
Tongue in cheek, match the beat,
Feed our hungry hatchling.
Unnerved by the dogged inaccuracies
Plagued by the sources that know,
Round about they seek the truth:
No further they must go.
To create a straight and narrow path
Out of the circle you must come,
Raised a glass anew,
Darkness must be overcome.
Nay, Nay, Nay, Nay
Faith is naught with you,
Belief comes from a higher power,
It is not your job to rescue:
For I am not lost.
On the hill where our *father lies,
Under a breadth of dew,
he lays there and he testifies
that he saw the King of the Jews.
Find the beat again,
Is it there, Charlie?
Do you hear it in your soul?
Rattling the cages of time,
you seem so very controlled
and you still have
a very long way to climb.
Jun 3, 2011
Jun 3, 2011 at 9:30 PM UTC
And He Showed Me A Pure River Of Water Of Life* Clear as Crystal, Proceeding from the Throne Of GOD and Of Thy Lamb* In the Middle of its Street, and on either side of the River, was the Tree Of Life, which Bore Twelve Fruits, each Tree Yielding its Fruits Every Month. The Leaves of the Tree were for thy Healing Of Thy Nations. And there shall be no more Curse, but thy Throne Of GOD and thy Lamb shall be in it, and His Servants Shall Serve Him* They shall see His Face, and His Name shall be on their Foreheads* There shall be no Night there, they need no Lamp nor Light of the Sun, for thy LORD GOD gives thou Light. And they shall Reign Forever and Ever* Then He said to Me* These Words are Faithful and True* And thy LORD GOD Of The Holy Prophets sent His Angel to Show His Servants the things which must shortly tAke Place* Behold, I Am Coming quickly! Blessed is He who Keeps the Words Of the Prophecy Of this Book* Now I, JOHN, saw and heard these things. And when I heard and saw, I fell down to Worship before thy Feet of The Angel who showed Me these things* Then He said to Me,* See that Thou do not do that. For I am Your fellow Servant, and of your Brethren the Prophets, and of those who keep the Words of this Book. Worship GOD and He said to Me, Do not Seal the Words Of the Prophecy of this Book, for the Time is at Hand.* He who is Unjust, let Him be Unjust still, He who is Filthy, let Him be Filthy still, He who is Righteous, let Him Be Righteous still, He who is Holy, let Him be Holy still* and behold, I am coming Quickly, and My Reward is with Me, to give to Every One According to Thy Work* I Am The Alpha And The Omega, the Beginning And The End, The First And The Last* Blessed are those who do His Commandments, that they may have the Right to the Tree Of Life, And may Enter through the Gates into the City. But Outside are Dogs and Sorcerers and Murderers and Sexually and Immoral and Idolaters, and whoever Loves and Practices A Lie* I, JESUS, have sent My Angel to Testify to You these things in the Churches. I am the Root And the Offspring Of David, the Bright and Morning Star* And the Spirit and The Bride say* Come!* and let Him who hears say* Come!* And let Him who Thirsts come. Whoever Desires, let Him take the Water Of Life Freely* For I testify to everyone who Hears the Words of the Prophecy of this Book* if anyone adds to these things, GOD will add to Him thy Plagues that are Written in this Book* And if anyone takes away from the Words Of the Book of this Prophecy, GOD shall take away His Part from the Book Of Life, from the Holy City, and from the things which are Written in this Book* He who testifies to these things says* Surely, I Am Coming Quickly* Amen. Even so, Come LORD Jesus! The Grace Of Our LORD JESUS CHRIST Be With You AllAmen**
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:53 AM UTC