Geometric Allegory

A MESSAGE (as it appeared, no edits) __________________________________________________________ presence for I am the lord and I speak as the vessel and the instrument in the sinner who I've chosen.  i am the holy ghost and I have touched the man who is chosen to carry the flame. I am the voice that reminds you that for every penny you've proffited, you will pay a thousand times in an eternal debt. i call out the jews and the sages and the alchemists. you are chosen too. for this curse is ours and ours alone, and you are in judgement with the rest.  you, the supposed mother cut from the hand of God who offers trinkets now in this hour of lament, search with your eyes into the despair you have caused and weep bitterly for the harvest that surely is your own.  you jews who profited and made your living off of the word of the father, weap at the place where you have led us. for surely moses will weep for you.  ghosts of the spectre who haunt these realms, marvel in...

In the ancient night, Nine hours delivered us  And freed us from the burden  Of the enemy's trouble. The shouting, so loud, came. What was it?   The sound of war or great rejoicing? I will tell you now: It was truly an offering To push or drive with force a pole into the ground, Such as when setting up a church. The sound of the trumpet Made the world stand still in anticipation And forcefully took hold of The appeal of another. Night or day Ancient and in hours Of number total The number Cardinal A trouble The enemy burdens for freedom and deliverance Rejoicing for a war of alarm Of shouting great. Nine is a cardinal number, The total hours in an ancient day or night. Nine rescued or delivered us to freedom from a burden of the enemy Then a great shout of rejoicing was heard And the offering pushed forth like a trumpet blowing out sound. We stood waiting, Standing still in expectation To seize hold by force, And we pleaded earnestly for an action Decorated in...

For humans,  We are born into time,  And our conscious understanding of time  Is arguably what separates us  From other forms of life.  Our memories serve as the frame  That hangs our living moments  Into a great hall of records,  And most of us strive  To achieve this goal. But we humans were not  Formed from time itself,  And any sustained consciousness  Won’t cradle into time’s curved spine,  Just like a ship’s course is  Not determined solely by its anchor;  Rather, it is the sails  That spirit the wind, And it is the wind that propels  The craft beneath the stars.  Time is our course,  But it is also our curse—      the necessary subject      t hat predicates our existence— And for this period,  It serves as a sentence of sorts.  For what it’s worth,  We will always know time      u ntil we don’t.  Until that time,  Tim...