To The Remnant #42

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27 - 1.5
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Let our hearts be that of flesh and not of stone.
Let us not repeat the history that is already known.
Exchanging hammers and nails.
For machines, that neither live or die.
To serve ourselves, a emptiness that can’t be seen.
By their servitude some feel as though they are free.

The chains of this reality and calamity.
What once was on top of our desk,
is our desk-top and our home.
Now on top of our laps, carried in our hands,
machine and man.

Almost embedded, now indebted society slaves, forgetting The One who Saves.

Connected, yet rejected, for how can machines comfort a heart?
Yet washing your dishes, cleaning your clothes, drying your hair.
Its everywhere, the world has prepared a table on their laps.
in our homes, a offering to their cells and phones.

We sow them pockets to carry them around.
As the world around us is flipped upside down.
How alone it must be, in a world that lives on empty.

Though man sown into machine is what want you to be.
Captivity, as those in a zoo looking upon what we do.
Many hide, looking through windows onto screens, the web of false reality.
Staring at a box, in hidden chains and locks.
To which there is no key, except by the Truth can we be free.

They tell-a-vision, a flicker not seen.
The programing.
Now they say its in H-D.
The illusion, that is not meant to be perceived, mirrors to paint and reflect the false reality.
Seeking, yet how can the world find, when many have gone blind.
What is real, and what is true?
In this time of lying signs and wonders, do not give up the Heavenly Pursuit.
For what other good is there to do.
For there is no other Love, other then that which rains down from above.
Harmless as a dove, gentle as a lamb, He is the “ I AM.”
--It is the Glory of God to conceal a matter, but the honor of kings to search it out