mancala

I am a rook of the most high God, neither here nor there, neither sinner nor saint, neither living nor dying.
Roaring stone yet whispering well.
Burning like a bush yet freezing like a bell.
Sweeter than kush while spicier than hell.
People practice what they do not know,
yet you Yeshua threw me down to where from it grows.
And lest i think myself more wicked than those,
and begin to forget my sins do rust forever again whenever my love makes glow your trust, more precious than all the gold, in all the worlds.
Either in darkness or in cold.
Behold I must, in my soul, the giver of the twilight rose.
Who speaks 3 names you wrote underneath my toes.
One for the money,
2 for the show,
3 to get ready, for I am yours.