“Sword and Light”

I hear the wind whisper through the ruins of Babel,

echoing names forgotten by men,

but never lost to God.

The clay remembers—

every breath the Potter gave it still trembles,

waiting for the Word that remakes worlds.

Iron rose and called itself master,

crowned itself in circuits and screens,

but even the machine must bow

when the Lamb raises His eyes.

I saw a throne of lightning,

not built by hands,

and from it came a sound—

not war,

not weeping,

but awakening.

He said,

“Behold, I make all things new.”

And the stars themselves leaned close

to listen,

for the Redeemer of dust had spoken.

Praise to the One who writes His truth in flame,

Who calls the lost clay by name.

From Rome to the Rockies, from Babel to Zion,

His Word burns brighter than iron.

The faithful rise,

swords not of steel but of Spirit;

the Word made living once more,

a river through deserts,

a heartbeat through stone.

Amen—

not the end, but the echo.

For His Son is the Song,

and His Song is forever.