Supper by rainlight, moon at an apex, stacked high with nestled vessels unwaxed.
Moon my friend, I received your beams though it seemed I was sacked.
I saw and felt GOD’s presence.
We Christians know the terms of knowledge to create wisdom.
Masters are made of sturdy attached to honor-bound crosses.
We attempt to attain the LORD’s facility to discern evenly.
The sky reclines, it’s all His.
His-story only seems to repeat when we miss the unreplete of the meekest’s drummer beats.
GOD doesn’t seek to repeat the abuse of the sweet.
That’s satan’s influence to demons’ brevity;
a detriment to their longevity.
Nebulas new are coming into view.
Hubble bursts bubbles uncovered for us to discover.
Messages align to harmonize a misunderstood schizophrenic clan.
A search for beauty…each to his purpose to effect GOD’s plan.
We must become angels of the greatest Man, GOD.
by Jerriè McGill