What You Talkin' About Willis?

To err in ones own mind draws too many fleeting glances from his own heart. The towers of men and empires of humanity are nothing more than flimsy cardboard providing shelter for the wealthy who perpetually feel homeless. The same log that burns in their fireplace is from the tree that holds years of memiores inscribed in noble thought. The fantasy of a broken creature remains fractured like its creator. Links are always missing like the Emperor's new clothes and he who sees is hanged from the noose of Lady Goodiva. He who is begets and that which has come is indeed begotten, yet only one came from the Father. Mistakes of the ages plot out a roas map for the astute to follow. Blind lead the blind but there is one who searches the deep things of the heart, which is deceitful above all things. Good intentions have led to an ocean floor covered with millstones and their partners. He who searches man searches the deep things of God and continues to flow in creativity even after the sixth day. Mountains of ambiguity get laid bare from the nostrils of He who declares the beginning from the end and all that remains is the mountain of perfection. It is He who loved us to the end which beckons all to meet it's looming presence. Rain falls on the righteous and the wicked all the while roads are being carved up the mountain scented like clusters of myrhh. Tunnels are broken open by the heart of John Henry while the peak towers above the plain of delusion. The darkness ever darker and the light becoming rare, flickers of sapphire warm those who have pursued the truth. The end is coming and the days are drawing shorter, these days are evil. Oh what glory waits for the few is but a flicker as a hush directs us to the myriad singing Handel's Messiah.