Any curse, catastrophically carried out, ceases to thwart.
All Cain’s calamity is canceled, clipped, and cast to sea.
The "Blood, Wood, & Nail’s" mixture detoxifies any blemish of men’s hearts and repels any reptilian tongue’s degree.
Let’s adore Him who stifled timeless hexes.
Those stubby infant fingers are crushers of the grave.
What petty and pathetic Walk of Fame could rival against the revival embedded with the road He paves?
The pitch black caves man once wandered—the psyches of the former enslaved with their doomed fates engraved in its walls—now bleeds with lights that save.
And, when that bitten apple—induced by that serpent of the gravel—required a soul’s trade, what's a Warren Buffet account, to the price He paid?
How could hell dare to attempt to expel his holy raid?
Let’s adore the splicer of dimensions.
For the same reason the stubby fingers and hairs of your infant daughter and son are numbered, this King took the form of the slave.
From the Soul,
Published works: https://amzn.to/3gA4Dh3