I am drawn to the penmanship of the lyricist, the wordsmith, unafraid and unadulterated by the culture of the escapist. To those, so ready to draw their pen, as if a sword, and defend the remnant–the misfits–who abide by freedom and experience the Kingdom in this terra firma and earthly dimension. I am moved by the Word that can cut in two and provide sustenance greater than food.–By Word that can teach and correct.–By message that deserves utter homage, veneration, and respect. Where are the sWORDS? Where are the carriers? Still hidden within the sphere of fear’s barriers? Where are the messengers? My hand is held out to thee. Help me up with words that can set my generation free.
© 2012, The Scribe’s Heart Publishing