Sons

The waking of faces. I will not be crowned King by a man with horns sticking out of his head. These trouble waters distilled with your silence, it was your music that sang in my heart. Now my heart bleeds with the serenity of your tears. You wept, and as you wept you knew the truth. We are humble enough and ignorant to not believe. That if ants can create a home, why can't man create a Heaven for our King? Its you I believe and the trustworthy of God. But I look around with fear in my eyes and see that I am alone, alone in a world with horns on peoples heads. Shed your grace, let me be with your angels. This place that we call home, is but a field of fire, but light always shines this way for us. He bleeds his grace on every one.