Molten existence, let God win, the tug has been a war. Many
threads, chasing Christianity, many upset with Argentina. Ararat signs, souls
bathed, let the smelting baptize me; a soul of sins, an underdog, it’s a
chance, Lord! Let God win, the battle has been long, out of darkness—returning to
light; cobweb militants, forced to behave, Hobbes might be correct—some are
innocent, where chains are absent, debauchery might seep in; such nausea and
aches, falling into shadows, debating Carl Jung. To win is the prayer; at what
expense? The bondage is eternal. Facing
the changing of times: A Woman’s Rights, Gun Laws, Covid, Electric Cars,
Politics—let God Win! The doctor of her spirit; the therapist of her mind; the
judge of her resistance—to the grave with insistence. Many more tasks, paradise
to uncover, a sign is pointing towards brains—a state of affairs; treading
sawgrass, palming tigerstone, a man’s soul becomes theology.
