Slaying the foe, protecting your own
Coloring the landscape with an alien tone
Include them all are the words they say
Meanwhile, it is them for which I will pray
A ticket to their carnival of sin
Buy one yet never get in
How long they ask, how long has it been?
The writing on the wall says half past ten
Caution and the wind come together like mice and men
Bricks of Clay no longer satiate
The life of him who is first to birth
Shall satisfy even the tyrants thirst
The blood of the lamb adorning the post
Sparing the life, at least for most
The pharaohs heart too hard to boast
Milk and honey, this story be naught but funny
For frogs and freedom share one thing
Hell and high water, are both to blame
For which is better we cannot discern
For the meek will inherit, a lesson will be learned
About the Creator
Ethan Ivy
I am the host of the Philosophical Gospel Podcast and an avid student of philosophy and theology.
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The Spring
The sun was high when Lance pulled off the road and into the dusty lot of the service station. The sign back at the hairpin--the first sign in a long time--said they just rolled into Hatter’s Creek, Population 63. It was small enough it didn’t appear on the handmap in Shelby’s lap, yet here it stood, the first backwater township on the fringes of the National Park. The plan was to gas up, restock the snack bag, and press on into the wilderness.
By Zack Graham4 days ago in Fiction
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