"Looking through my soul,
Not my eyes.
Vibration draws,
Patterns to your light.
Your energy collides,
It speaks to mine.
Beautiful whispers,
Colours intertwine." - Unknown
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The devil, your adversary comes as a roaring lion, seeking whomever he may devour.
He is nothing but a mere simile, thou shall not release thine own's power.
My pastor used to tell me that the sparrow will not put on thine shoulders to wear, more than one can bare.
Ain't that something?
You see, the reality of this all is we allow the evil one to taunt our thoughts, infest our brains, cause it to rot. Nothing is ever as horrid as it seems inside minds of we.
We the people.
Humans in general have a tendency to be weary and allow thine selves to be shaken in the midst and or presence of the enemy.
But, I know that by his stripes I am healed. We are healed. Delivered from any calamity that dare come one's way.
No weapon formed against me shall prosper, for I am love.
Love conquers all. Or so we all thought, having to be able to understand everyone isn't like me, isn't like we. We are blessed in highly divine favor. Due to that reigning true, the evil one will be out to get you.
The devil, your adversary comes as a roaring lion, seeking whomever he may devour.
He is nothing but a mere simile, thou shall not release thine own's power.
Olympas and I sat in pitch black silence.
We were mute.
Rendered speechless.
So many corrupted cogitations spewing erratically inside the minds of we.
Currently, the evil one decided to have a parade of darkness clouding the meninges of our brains. We were lost at what to do, and how could this be. I was so unsure of everything, and I didn't dare want to commit a sin for trying to reprimand a commodity.
"We..we need to pray Olympas.." I uttered into the darkness.
"We need answers.. from the sparrow. No one else could provide us with a solution that's rightfully so. I have just the remedy."
"What do you suggest?"
"You shall see."
After several minutes, I sat with my legs crossed within one another on the hardwood cherrywood floor. Vanilla wax candles, lit aflame, surrounding us in a circle. We in nothing but undergarments. Almost as bare as the day we were born here on earth. My orbs crawl sedately over every inch of ink that they could absorb with each gaze. Each swirl, curve, and line telling never heard before folk tales in the story of Olympas. The work of art he was drenched in was a mystery, alluring, and interesting. It only coerced my mind more to wonder about the ink embedded into his melanin.
