GROUNDED IN CHRIST

Act 2:17, "And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams"

See how beautiful you all perch,

Solely to prove that we're in church.

The old speak in tongues,

And youth preach with gongs.

A sacrosanct routine like this,

And we think we're in the spirit.

So we win many souls today,

Tomorrow we don't know where they stay.

We then give the biblical excuse,

Quoting that the labourers are few.

But do we have enough Pew,

To accommodate the souls anew?

On which solid rock do you stand,

If you won't build in the sinking sand?

So they come in and flush us out,

Because we haven't guarded our own house.

Remember the days of old,

Where in worship, prophesy unfold?

Was there not Eli, when God chose to speak to Samuel?

This is the highest level of maturity,

an epitome of spiritual purity,

and an evidence of transcendent intimacy.

Let your light shine before men,

Else thy gifts be trodden.

You can't let your leaves wither,

Even as the end draws nigher.

Ooh ye, fair daughter of Zion,

Gird up thy loins whilst in thy youth and make that impact.

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RFFS PRAYER

Anytime I'm called for duty... Wherever deployment takes me, Pervert from my path, any mutiny... But give me the strength to be; The rescuer, the protector and the fire fighter. Whenever I'm gone for stand by... Lord, grant me a listening watch. All incursions, hazards and risks, May I with my crew identify... Where unavoidable, enable us to mitigate.. Be it in the terminal, tarmac or boarding gate.. Should there ever be an emergency, Wherever fire may rage.. Should there be any shout, No matter the skin or age.. Help me put the fire out, And my neighbor, help me save. And if by your will... Any blood may spill... Leading to any fatality, Protect my wife and kids, And preserve the rest of my crew.

THE BLISS of STRIFE

This is the lottery of life, That a lot of men, Tend not to see as an Omen, Full of bliss but only strife. We either get to long live, Or soon forced to leave. Be lucky to be born, Or remain a spirit borne. But no matter how you came to exist, There’s only one way to exit. Through the tunnel of death, Whether neat or with dirt. So just in case you are here, And you have some fruit to bear, Let us get to taste you in due time. Whether sweet or as sour as lime. Breathe in more air, But in your heart, do not err. Enjoy life as a sweet aroma to smell, But for your sake, let no one else yell. Anytime you are angry, Just assume you’re hungry. Seek the bread of life if you can. Because vain life is just an empty can.

FALLEN ANGELS

Most often than not, Heroes do fade with their names unsung. But the shadows of their past, And the candles we light all night, Can at least serve as lyrics, To compose for their departed souls, A new song for us to be consoled. Patriots they’re now called, As dirty politics has now stalled. For once at most, We all agree to a toast, In solemnity and not at the bar, That this life is by far, An expedition with a divine illusion. Yes indeed they were; Heroes as we now call them. Not because it sounds like an anthem, But for the national emblem, They did responsibly revere. Was it the natural order? Is it because someone failed to bother? Was it their time? Are the questions we continue to mime. But will the answer save us a dime, As a nation in her own prime? Let the eight angels fly high, As families make a thirst quenching sigh, And create for them a legacy in perpetuity. For if we seek another opportunity, And let these men go forgotten, There shall be no more fallen angles from...

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