Psalm .007: Of Frontiers, Frost-Killing & the Fanning of Wings.
A wintersong of angels and awakening. Probably long and drawn out with a beautiful crescendo at the unveiled truth.
How is it that I awoke with such a peace, such a lifting?
As if the great foe of my vision had been vanquished,
By invisible, stealth-bound wielders of righteous indignation….
Tranquil, yea lighted, has been this morning.
The dawn awakened with frost and stillness
Like the breath that only winterborn Holiness can beget.
This frozen frontier, this frigid fight has waged so long
I feel like we were like those who dream
Those who dream and dream, as it seems,
And remain fixed, yet sapid inside that Dream.
Methinks that there was a nocturnal turning of the tide
Like a Danielic harbinger came with earth-shattering news
That both horse and rider have been tossed into the sea.
That both the drear of hoarfrost and hell itself have been overthrown.
That prayers and petitions were not only heard, but etched by golden pen in an iron ledger…and answered via the supernatural.
That help has come.
That influx is possible.
That scores have been roused.
That I wasn’t crazy this whole time.
That breath…a hushed voice…a calm…and the sweet sentries’ heavenly feathers fluttered all around me at the words spoken,
“No cold could now kill this flame.”