BOOK II — THE COMING
You knew the hour,
you knew the cost,
you felt the shift
and still held loss.
You hid in silence,
called it wise,
watched truth pass
before your eyes.
What was His
was never sold,
you only borrowed
what you hold.
No warning now,
no time to plead—
the ground remembers
every deed.
He does not ask.
He does not roam.
What is His
is coming home.
You knew the hour,
you knew the cost,
you felt the shift
and still held loss.
You hid in silence,
called it wise,
watched truth pass
before your eyes.
What was His
was never sold,
you only borrowed
what you hold.
No warning now,
no time to plead—
the ground remembers
every deed.
He does not ask.
He does not roam.
What is His
is coming home.
BOOK II — THE COMING
You knew the hour,
you knew the cost,
you felt the shift
and still held loss.
You hid in silence,
called it wise,
watched truth pass
before your eyes.
What was His
was never sold,
you only borrowed
what you hold.
No warning now,
no time to plead—
the ground remembers
every deed.
He does not ask.
He does not roam.
What is His
is coming home.
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