I crawled into the skull

with my physical intellect,

led by my spirit

into that skull,

of just one ant

you know,

the insect,

amongst many of its species,

. . . just one of incalculable

numbers of ants,

of trillions upon trillions,

ad infinitum,

of those living on planet earth

therein,

just in one

i found a

membrane

below an encasing

outer shell,

the exoskeleton,

and within

all of this,

divine intricacy,

this exponentially complex

sample of design,

i saw,

blood vessels

surrounding all components of

this ant,

this just one ant,

and each ant that has ever lived

to present and past

throughout the entire

earth

and to the future

all operating

functioning

like a computer's program

yet eternal

from the time of creation

to the present

utterly mechanisms

maintaining

sustaining just this one ant

and all living organisms

i perceived this just one

ant's

brain,

blood vessels coursing through it

and blood flowing through each

capillary

yes,

all its organs . . .

. . . and then,

i pondered,

the ant's thoughts

and its decision making

prowess . . .

what are its thoughts?

i am certain of its personhood

for it is a living entity

i know it is capable of fear

its reactions to stimuli

its inventive ability,

as i have observed since childhood

and my inquisitive intrusions

upon its world,

upon its fellow ants,

and their course of activity

. . . and yes again,

i am aware of its beating heart,

praise to the electron microscope

and its inventors

yet no man can resuscitate

its heart much long

after its final beating moments

i am aware of this one ant's frame,

it's structure,

i am studied in its being,

comprised of the elements,

like the carbon,

listed on the periodic table;

of its atoms harnessed by

electrons,

quarks

lepiquarks and the like . . .

and beyond the tiniest,

of the physical,

as in,

strange matter . . .

. . . into the portal beyond,

into the realm of spirit

all held together,

by creation

yes,

this just one,

ant . . .

for it possesses

life

life the inexplicable . . .

life from a creator

his name is Jesus

who is Life himself,

son of God

who created all things,

as in the book of

Colossians

. . . swarms of ants,

swarms of insects,

myriad animals,

on the land

in the sea,

visible

and invisible

surrounding our own,

human,

physical

and spiritual

being

there's a greyish darkness

outside my shutters

like the fabric

of wool

filtering

the residual

light

subtly

of what's left

to another dying day

if it weren't for

the criminals

in the black house,

(some call it the red house),

it wouldn't be so

. . .

i look at the leaves

by this grey

cold hearted light,

to that

of yonder

fading image

of sir oak tree.

who i know

only by familiarity

of his friendship

he is stately

having more righteousness

in even one of his leaves

than the entire

side of unrighteous

godless,

so called leaders

across

the globe

for they are like black holes

the collective lot of them

UN

wef

the who,

(definitely not the band)

because they emit no light

they suck it in,

causing

death by war and disease

by greed

and anti God stratagems

to what's what's left

to another dying day

i recognize him,

mr. oak,

by his sad limbs

and opaque leaves

now blackish

which beg,

robbed,

of the residual

fading light

beyond this,

past my concepts

of political quasi

spiritual perceptions

my mind of sight

takes me

to edge of this infinity,

portions portal

of space

back to my other friend by day,

beyond the oak's form

there, . . .

a floating former

meadow,

once green by memory's eye,

now dried,

a dirty yellow,

like the wicked in government

some,

who despise the people,

there,

over there,

on what i know

to be ground

is a grey yellow,

like dirty straw,

yes,

dried grass

once green,

as if it once fed a horse,

young and vibrant

now,

a pale one

this ground,

now dull

in this fading light

of another dying day

silhouetted

by

the grim

remaining photons

of swallowed light

gulped

by the greedy

globalist

illuminati types

. . . into this seeming void

i too float

carried by my weary

mind,

flesh so weak,

mind once so strong,

now laid to rest,

shackled by the darkening

scene,

set before my sight,

made dim

by the fading light,

to dark

. . . with my memorized eyes,

just a thousand yesterdays ago,

like a calm before,

a coming storm,

like the shaking,

that is just around the bend,

coming like a freight train,

as sure as the rising

of another bright sun rise,

like another judgement day,'

like another parting of the red sea,

like the tranquil stillness

just before the threshold of

that coming storm . . .

like just before

the closing of Noah's ark

door . . .

i gaze deep,

into the invisible realm,

that speaks to me

of a coming shaking

that now is

intensifying,

and fury plummet

in violent force,

disrupt this scene

i know,

will turn to black,

i will not leave you destitute

nor leave you blind

in travail

void of hope

peer into the darkness

await the light

come my people

he,

the LORD,

says,

come into my chambers

"til the upheaval be overpast

in my presence find your comfort

and see the coming light

return

in utter glory

the things you see now

though dark,

will be bathed

in light,

and truth

and you will fear

no more

Song and voice

Swirl around my

Yesterday head

There,

with hands

Of clean heart,

Sweet fingers

Fingers of Yesterday,

Move and handle

Things,

Like the gentle skin,

Of a gentle,

Baby

Come back air,

Come back song,

Blue sky,

White clouds,

Summer sun,

Sun,

Shine on me again

Take me back,

To a holy siren song

To a desolate loneliness

Please,

A harpsichord,

Plays,

Outside myself,

Above me

I see,

Tears drip

On my freckled,

Suntanned country,

Fresh face of utter,

Innocence

And I,

No,

I am not,

Alone, I am not

I Am here

Raise the dead

And be it gone,

Kick in the face

That of what is,

Evil

That is

Of what is the greed,

The murder,

The followers

Of death

Yeah!

Stay afar,

I mention not

Your name

Those that ruin

All that is good

Take me back,

There

To yellow stalks of wheat

Meadow larks

And grey clay loam soil

Twilight nights

Shining full moons

Dew on the land

Coyote wails

I wish and pray

Now I am,

On the forgotten land

Where i once stood

Time sped

Leaving me behind

Hurled and ruthlessly threw me

Down

Cruelly hurt me

Now

The former

Is choked,

Overrun,

By the bad deeds

Of heartless

Thoughtlessness,

By the noise . . .

Trampled,

By the shallow

Of rushing beings,

Captivated

By cell phones,

Images

Constantly flowing,

Flitting

Crushing,

The past

Nostalgia murdered,

By the shallow,

The rush,

The warning signposts

Of yesterday ignored

A slow death

Enveloped

By the deceit

Of that "we will never

Die"

Til it comes

For the thought,

Of the present

Is,

Tomorrow will not

Ever come

'Til,

For those that

Seek the tik

And tok

And the platforms of

The Apps

The world of flickering lights

The ubiquitous

Media

Transfixed

Glued

Take a breath?

Break away?

No,

Perhaps

To wake

To what?

Not until

The electricity

The components

Of the virtual

Are cut off

Song and voice

Swirl around my

Yesterday head

There,

with hands

Of clean heart,

Sweet fingers

Fingers of Yesterday,

Move and handle

Things,

Like the gentle skin,

Of a gentle,

Baby

Come back air,

Come back song,

Blue sky,

White clouds,

Summer sun

A melody hurts me

My loved precious one has

Died

No living walking

Dead,

Wicked one,

Can

Or ever will,

Nor should,

Breathe

The air he could

Have better well,

Been,

Deserved

to have

Breathed

In his or any other

Innocent's

Stead

Now,

I am on a wild mountain

Far away

From you,

I remember you

Like yesterday

I haver not forgotten

You

My love,

Nor ever will

I

For,

Life is fleeting

More than

Grains of granite

Sunlit here,

I crunched upon them

With my boots,

You are gone

You cannot follow them

Nor walk upon them

Like you used to

You cannot walk behind them

You are forever gone

Your atoms

Lost

In the subatomic milleu

My only hope is to

Believe in hope itself

Your ghost spirit follows me

Softly,

In the air surrounding

Gently caressing

A hope

To hope,

to see,

You again

Is a memory

A brain cell?

No

I know so

My brain connects

With spirit reality

Only it

can lead

Me

to you

The pain of loss

Is real

today i fainted,

inside my

worn torn heart,

overwhelmed,

i was,

with the effects,

of the unseen,

so,

so, so hidden,

by the wickedness

that hides,

done,

by them,

the children

of the bad

what things?

why, . . .

don't

you see?

. . . of course you don't

and i do not fault you

the great majority

sleep

myriad roads,

lead,

to many deceptions,

like,

good is bad

and evil good

the line of goodness,

it is drawn,

see it,

across the sand of

what is written

in all hearts,

choose it

the crooked course

is torched by lies,

flaming misdeeds,

thefts,

deaths,

things unjust,

that pain,

induced by,

the walking dead,

is the bad

today i fainted,

inside my worn,

torn heart,

i crawled inside myself,

my hidden,

my spirit,

my defenseless

heart,

i called out,

i cried to him,

the Lord

of Lords,

. . . he hears everything

i heard him,

he answered,

no audibleness,

but yes,

. . . impressions,

of his words,

yet sweet,

kind and strong,

given inside my bleeding,

worn,

war torn heart,

to,

"stay the course,

wait, . . .

not long now,

and see,

what good

things I do"

jagged sky

meets,

cringes at its line,

with jagged

ragged tree tops

in the black green

distance,

topping myriad

lines

of oncoming,

outgoing lines

of chrome

its dirty

light reflecting

cars of steel and glass

all going where

nowhere?

busy busy

busy,

all busy

nowhere

where?

today

yesterday

over and over

again

jagged lines

burning time

repeat

repeat

the repetition

arrogant fools

hidden in enclaves

some above

some below ground

getting ready

for their next plandemic

their next false flag

next invasion

like the southern border

led by the pied piper

//. . .pleased to meet you

hope you know my name . . .//

who can wake them up,

they're arrogant

ad nauseum to my spiritual senses

for in their wickedness

they plot

and plan

in hidden chambers

they laugh

in their pride

deluded

by dark forces

rather than

open ears

to The LORD

God almighty

yes,

we are dust

dust mixed with fabulous ingredients,

chemicals

elements

minerals

Consciousness

human life

God breathed

No,

Not risen from some

lame mindless theory

primordial soup

struck by lightening

like the moon is made of cheese

pseudo

master of deception

demonic

inspired

big Lie,

like as in the theory

of evolution

i laugh with distain

mixed with

emulsified with the ideas

borne of satan's philosophy

swallowed by masses

we are dust

endowed with God breathed

Life,

But,

these in power

who cheapen our lives

with their train derailments,

cargo ships stuck at sea

colliding with bridges,

with their plandemics

upcoming,

tainted food

water,

cloud seeding chemtrails

upcoming more

lasers,

the likes of maui

infesting politics

pretending american principles

their fruits speak

for themselves

they'll use emps

now

or try even deadlier means

so wicked, . . .

in tandem

with rouge nations

stealing our taxes

to destroy our livelihoods

in our so called white house?

Red House

working for . .

the enemy is within

. . . wake up woke, . .

no care for their fellow

man,

for children . . . innocent,

spirits inhabit

cohabit the sold souls

of the enemy

is within

wake up woke,

forget elections

stolen,

don't trust in elections

to save us

in God we Trust

wake up to The LORD

who breathed Life into dust

and ask the Lion

of Judah's Tribe

to arise

to inhabit earth

vanquish the foe

sanctify America

bring Justice

and Vengeance

lay back

lay back and love

let the wind blow

coupled with its breeze

set your mind at ease

though it turn

to hurricane

though the earth shake,

and bad boogies,

so called men,

steal real men's

hearts

and dead men's bones,

and children too,

though they cause,

their own

quaking,

to rattle those,

who just want

to lay down, . . .

. . . in the end,

they will

go down,

way,

way, . . .

all the way down.

. . . stay in the pocket,

pray away,

death by tornado,

hailstone and fire, . . .

for the innocent,

the child,

the elderly,

the foolish,

and naïve,

lay back

lay back and love

lay back,

'cause the Lord,

the master of

all,

of nature's forces,

who obey him

will shelter you, . . .

peace be still,

lay back

lay back and love,

'cause those,

that cause,

havoc

in the streets

and yell,

demanding

what is not theirs,

twisting the arm

of what is law

what is right,

throwing tantrums

defiant, . . .

spreading violence,

. . .lay back

lay back and love

'cause the Lord,

the master of all things,

king of creation,

will lay us down

when it all goes down

18th century wallpaper,

musty scent

emanating from

a standup wardrobe

a brass bed

a creaky wooden floor

soaked by linseed oil,

countless times,

like the countless davits

and creases on the ceiling

and on her face,

. . . she thinks,

as she looks into the mirror

etched by micro scratches

and blackened

non reflective edges,

devoid of silver backing,

like the void

of streets below,

where she looks out the window,

sees streets in mayhem,

full of violence,

paid for by enemies,

of what is good,

those devoid of reason

devoid of love

and she clings to the sill,

its cracked caked paint,

though smooth inside,

for sake of her hands,

. . . its ancient exterior

eroded by weather,

rain, sleet, snow,

wind,

for sake of the window's

brick outside

she wonders if she'll see

the same as those,

whose eyes

witnessed the pogroms

in germany

and many other places

like in new york today,

france

europe

all over the world

she thinks,

"in the blink of an eye

all could be swept away

below

like the floods

tornadoes

earthquakes

snow and ice

hail

hurricanes,

happening

increasing

all over the world now,

that the so called

mainstream news

fails miserably,

intentionally

to broadcast,"

she speaks to the air

surrounding the mayhem

below,

here and there,

she sees shape shifters

with her spirit eyes,

devils in human form

fomenting

the crowd to madness

"their foolish

propaganda,"

she shouts

above the din

of the fray below . . .

of global warming,

to tax our asses to the bone

with devilishly named

mind bending

faux carbon tax

so called,

that stinks

of reptilian

fallen angels'

scent, . . .

worshipped

and obeyed

by those

of the globalists'

agenda . . .

"i will not comply

to their lie,"

she prays,

"let the earth quake

and the sky fall,

i will not live in bondage,

give me liberty

or give me death,

like patrick henry

cried,"

she remembers

the great patriots

of many . . .

for many

have still not,

bowed the knee

to baal, . . .

from within

the crowd

a black eyed entity

stares a venomous

glare

up at her

spitting forth a long

flickering

forked tongue

as he sends

a fiery dart

of death via

an invisible flame

straight to her

she deflects it

with her shield

of faith

which is the word

of God, . . .

he mocks down below

up at her

pure hate . . .

"to hell with baal,

for that is where

he is headed,"

she shouts out,

"along with his

followers,

to be thrown headlong

there,"

as she thinks this,

suddenly the clouds above

part,

like the waves of the red sea,

thunder rolls,

trumpets blast

the air fills with strange,

frightening sounds,

sounds,

not instilling ordinary fear,

but fear of accountability,

as in dread

of approaching judgement,

because way above,

is a light,

not of photons,

but of a sentient brightness

"it's glorious,"

she shouts,

"i mean what

glory,

i think actually is,

as it must be,

like the light

of a gigantic

quasar,

but not physical

is what, . . .

that . . .

which . . .

stirs the genes

moves,

the dna,

like no other thing

can,

like what

must move the chromosomes

to the depth of the soul . . .

. . . what only the creator's

presence can do . . ."

the sky rolls apart,

like a scroll,

torn,

by an invisible wave

. . . there,

above,

surrounded,

by myriad angelic beings,

sits,

a mighty King,

a warrior,

like a lion,

his garments are dipped

in blood

his countenance fierce

lord of lords

she knows

is,

written on his thigh . . .

those below scatter

like roaches

stumbling

running en mass

she shouts in victory

she knows him,

because,

she has

known him . . .

. . . now she sees him

as he descends

to battle

the globalists,

destroyers of earth,

usurpers of freedom

killers . . .

the Lord of Lords

is here

as promised . . .

. . . their puppets

and all their

satan worshipping

followers

are destroyed

in the blink of an eye

smooth tapered

rounded edges

of a pristine

white marbled wall

surrounds her

fragrant scent

emanates from

walk in closet

fully laden wardrobe

soft lights

multi accented

colors

set in splendid beauty

a full bed

clean oaken floor

brightly reflecting

glorious sunlight

emanating from

a clear blue sky

the creases on her face,

she thinks,

are gone,

as she looks into the mirror

yes,

her skin is smooth

youthful

like the mirror

diffusing

a pleasant calmness

of the surrounding air

like

when she was

in her thirties

the streets below

are filled with joy

and celebration

with the fullness

of life

"yes,

a great reset,"

not of the globalists'

wicked plan,

but of God,"

she shouts

broken wire,

barbed,

but ineffective

they still get through it

or cut it clean

following broken dreams,

turning to nightmares, . . .

. . empty streets

but for the homeless,

mentally weirded out,

people

with no where to go,

followed by rows,

and rows of moving

cars

heading nowheres

cracked asphalt,

crooked poles,

splintered,

no paint,

. . . just raw,

sun bleached,

sun baked,

dried out,

dead,

wood,

bearing sagging,

ragged,

spliced wire,

centuries old,

carrying voltages

at the speed of light,

ready to break,

bound to tear,

at the next

ground shake

beneath them

them,

the rubber soled feet,

the street feet

the bare,

bruised,

soiled,

battered,

abused feet,

of some humans,

with no cars

. . . the sun darkened,

a few days ago

hidden by our moon

made a cross

at a special intersection

across our America,

. . . seems like an ubiquitous

world event,

to the naked eye,

'cause

it seems,

seemingly,

nothing happened

/but it did, . .

. . . the spiritual denizens

of that realm

will tell you

it did,

/if you open your ears

and tune your soul

in with it,

it did,

just wait

for the delayed outcomes/

seems nothing happened

but it did,

in that unseen reality

/more to come in a few days

more rumbling

more shaking

intensifying . . .

people go

to and fro . . .

now,

i look past a clear vision,

now,

of all things,

it comes

out of the blue,

. .'. a hummingbird,

in what seems,

a stationary, oxymoronic flight,

that is,

suspended,

its wings beating

at 600 cycles per second,

at the divine,

flowering head

of its mother plant

the sight,

the phenomenon,

inexplicably,

impossible to define

my eyes,

are subconsciously attuned now,

they dreamily flow to another,

magnificent field,

its close proximity of sight

blurs to the distance

by involuntary muscles

brain and mind,

leading to,

a portal's entrance

unto infinity,

to that of close

proximity's future,

our short lifespan,

though hazy, . . .

it is like looking through

a smoky mirror, . . .

. . i see many teetering

and falling,

some rise

some for to never again

rise,

but fall for eternity,

treachery

their own chosen doom, . . .

/the eclipse,

it's effects

are not over/

i see they followed the wrong roads

that led to destruction,

hurting their,

unawares,

innocent,

fellow humans

y' know, , . .

why of course,

y' know,

since the annals

of recorded

and beginning

unrecorded time, . . .

greed,

lust for,

unearned riches,

thefts,

grafts,

lies,

things that kill the soul,

ever of the possessor,

y' see

with me,

through the mirror

of the now,

see clearly,

feel,

a new dawning

one that culminates

with many red sea

moments

globally,

many cries of pain,

many of joy,

but for those that crossed over

the tide of warnings

and heeded the mighty

biblical word of God,

written for all mankind,

still here,

still available,

so's Jesus

go to him now

he calls you

you shouldn't refuse,

that,

the crooked will be made straight

the portals will open

those of heaven,

not for the the likes

of those of Cern

demonic machine,

looking for God particles

finding instead,

anarchistic

luciferian dimensions,

. . . but of the likes of,

for the likes of,

your Lord,

yes,

your creator,

his love for you,

magnificent,

his kingdom come,

on earth,

as it is

in heaven

yes,

in our lifetime,

we will see,

between now

and november,

earth shaking

supernatural events

that will wake up

the woke

and make satan's kingdom

tremble