POEMS, LIFESTYLE AND ESSAYS!

  His voice, all that he stood for, now Hushed. An Icon of Evil; he was He prides himself a Tyrant. Clans Sundered by His Rulings. He delights at their Soulful Cries A Crusher of Hope; he was. An Executor; he was. He was the Roaring Storm that Stilled not. The inflictor of all Pain; he was. None was Free from his Bonds.  The Blood of the Innocents Stirred the Earth She was awakened by their Eulogies, So she Wrapped him in her claws,bound him in her Claws.                                                                                                         All we hear now are Tales. Dead Lions Don't Roar.  DammyInspire..                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

In the midst of a roaring storm I find my feet I find my feet in the promises of old I find my feet in the now promises I find my feet in the promises of what to come I leap for joy for what is to become I rejoice as the becoming unravels I recognize the obstacles But see the Victory ahead I embrace the fiery darts By my shield of Faith Breastplate of righteousness I wear me the Helmet of Salvation I Strike with the Sword of the Spirit. I keep my heart sprinkled from an evil conscience My body washed with pure water I draw near with a true heart Beholding the Glory I look at the Sun and do not see the Shadows. I see what I’m to become Cause to become the becoming  I must place my feet On the rock beneath the water. For He is Faithful that Promised!  DammyInspire.. PhotoCredit: ShutterStock