theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
Paris | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2015/11/14/paris
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. La mort et la haine. Combien de temps, oh mon dieu? November 14, 2015. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Twitter account. ( Log Out. You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out. Notify me of new comments via email.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
The Gift | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2013/05/28/the-gift/comment-page-1
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. For those who don’t know. Grace is like air. It feeds us. And brings us new life. May 28, 2013. One Comment to “The Gift”. May 28, 2013 at 10:53 pm. And for those who do:. You are blessed beyond measure. And your love shines bright. Leave a Reply Cancel reply. Enter your comment here. Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:. Address never made public). You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
Into shadow | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2016/01/16/into-shadow
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. The time again I fear is drawing near. Where dreams are lost and hope shall disappear. The charlatans have spun their web so well. The story sold so long no longer sells. They promise you a life of ease and peace. But give out only sorrow, toil, and grief. Our poisoned world rests squarely on their heads. But still we look to them, sheep to be led. Weep now, in hope that soon your tears will dry. And death waits not for we who hesitate.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
For the newbs | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2013/05/08/for-the-newbs/comment-page-1
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. He’s called us to sit and wrestle together. The words of contention He places before us. We examine ideas to which we’ve long ago tethered. To keep ourselves steady in the churning fuss. He called us, I say, let none who see doubt it. Yet He meets us each in the ways we submit. And he knows what our hearts cannot bear us to see. And opens our eyes to Him, thankful and free. May 8, 2013. One Comment to “For the newbs”. Next Post ».
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
The Unlikely Prophet | Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart | Page 2
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/page/2
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. September 16, 2015. I don’t feel you gone,. Yet I know you have moved on. Your heart stays with me. The work done in Christ. To raise a kingdom of priests;. Through sorrow we pray,. Thankful for our time with you,. We cherish each day. How long, O Lord? Let your peace be our comfort. In the midst of grief. August 14, 2015. Faster please, I cannot see. Where my foot should be. Nor make out the floor. Which certainly must be there. Even l...
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
Dichotomy | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2016/04/23/dichotomy
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. I feel that I must split in two. Like us all, when faced with extremes,. Pulled to one side with sense. And the other, our heart strings. Is there peace left beyond the intense? Rended to the core, tears from springs. We flow out ourselves and live anew. I once dreamed of beginning and end. And the space in between I did whither and waste. Until Death sought me quick with sharp device. Of division itself I have carved a new slice. On Si...
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
January | 2017 | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2017/01
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. Month: January, 2017. January 2, 2017. And now we are 34. Eight hundred and eighty four. Fortnights. What’s your count? And now we are 34. Epiphany Lyrical I…. On Sing through days of sorr…. Epiphany Did She J…. On Sing through days of sorr…. Rdetrick on The Gift. Loop walks and strol…. On For the newbs. Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
December | 2016 | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2016/12
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. Month: December, 2016. December 6, 2016. We are many, we are legion. Infesting the Earth, void of dignity and reason. Lost in our pain or our vile supremacy. Unwilling to move, for the sake of our legacy. Soaking in silt, the dredges of our past. Mired until we surrender at last. To the will of voices of doubt in the dark. That call to our weakness, the stain and the mark. There are some who listen, who hear the horn. And now we are 34.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
September | 2016 | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2016/09
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. Month: September, 2016. September 16, 2016. Long days stand between my thoughts. Beyond time and place, in season passed before season. To pick up and go on, though trapped and caught. In conflict that flows beyond all reason. A world in suspension, all I see of late. Waiting for the next breath, in or out. And it seems to matter not one’s personal stake. But rather your influence, peddle, and clout. Let the poor and weak rise to replace.
theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com
Listen | The Unlikely Prophet
https://theunlikelyprophet.wordpress.com/2016/12/06/listen
Songs yet unsung, prayers only whispered, and the words of my heart. We are many, we are legion. Infesting the Earth, void of dignity and reason. Lost in our pain or our vile supremacy. Unwilling to move, for the sake of our legacy. Soaking in silt, the dredges of our past. Mired until we surrender at last. To the will of voices of doubt in the dark. That call to our weakness, the stain and the mark. There are some who listen, who hear the horn. As it blasts from the valley and awakens the morn. Post was...