Hieroglyphics Of Holy Wounds (Shapeshifting-Zipporah)

Smoke and mirrors unbalance the truth of a detrimental soul      
Cleansing of the intellect is the rebirth as the Sun is to the Rose      
What fables can blind men speak      
When questioning the presence of his purpose, yet dead minded to give hope in the deliverance of his speech      
Trying to ignite the spark of conceivable notions when the heart is leaking and not at peace      
His eyes cannot exalt beyond Mt. Zion peaks      
Where is your Holy Oil for the lost wandering sheep      
Give universal rest for the mental weariness and spiritually weak      
The promise to the afterlife in the chastisement of the meek      
       
Lineage of Gods do not twist the time of his creation      
Man, woman, child the divine unity is found in the agility of benediction to the constellations      
Lessening the mind when the truth is in plain view      
Death and destruction seem to be the passage you seek to mentally abuse, physically misuse      
     
Propaganda floating on the crest of life in droves of waves      
Within the Grand Canyon the history of my lineage is scrawled on the walls of those caves      
The echoing cries are hollowing on the wind      
Upon the treetops that swayed, unto the neck broken, upon the bend      
Signs of the times to christen unto a new origin      
     
To pardon the democracy of Heaven and Hell, as blood still seeps in burial ground        
Forebode and ancestry speaks shh... you can hear the bemoans if you do not make a sound        
Native land, footsteps branded on the soil by the Moorish man        
You give the world a book of fables, with insect, murder, fornication, and adultery, and you ask to hold my hand        
When the Constitution of our forefathers refuse to acknowledge blood still seeps from the vast land        
Where sacred chants from the soil your ancestors stole        
       
Diabolic echoes you may tell a makeshift altar, built upon hollow sticks, and casted stones        
Genocide, pilgrimage, ethnic cleaning the stars, the moon, can never atone      
Never tell a clean soul, stay blessed      
B-less is not being the best      
It makes you thinketh therefore you are      
When chaos enters your frame of mind, fate cannot be measured, destiny will not be met      
The Revelations of whips and chains are clamoring from the mountaintop        
Aren’t we all waiting for the great tribulations, as eyes look up for glory, knees to the terrain we will drop        
Natural disasters upon the shores the beginning of trepidation        
I am not the martyr that you should never fear, my dear        
My frontier is sky miles in the remnants of fallen tears        
     
Of man, when he walked in unity dark feet casted and brassed      
The pilgrimage of my North Star has come moons have passed      
And you question the validity of my faith, which will always outlast      
I cannot teach the heart what should be there by the resurrected nature of spiritual designs      
Mystical incantations to reach the sublime      
     
The pyre of laminates will never be found in the validation, or could you ever overstand my mission of deliverance from within the delusion of time      
You may try, but the Holy Oil, gifted from the Holy Grail is the bone marrow of my sublimes      
Words of yesterday, I do not exist      
A celestial sacred version that has traveled to the seconds, upon moments of a soft reminisce      
Light your Olibanum, inhale, exhale, close your eyes, and say an Arabic prayer      
Open the portal of your mind beyond the dark parchments of the Freemasons, the Illuminati and the earthly Naysayers      
     
Take off thy shoes, for your judgment is upon Holy Ground      
I console upon my depth, as I sit in, “Halls of Amenti”, truth found in its peace, my only divine harkening sound      
The stigmata from my hands to give      
My feet to traveling with wisdoms and knowledge from His blood, I am the sanctification for you to choose how you to live     
Piercing you with my truth with the finality
Let the blood and water flow, as the Roman Lance of Longinus into the Begotten son, had did
     
To the hearts that are heavy      
Their minds inclined in bitterness, that is the dam that breaks civilizations' levies      
Let the reign cometh in the mourning where eyes shall look up of its descending glory      
I am who I am      
A timeless spirit in the vessel, I stand to give reprisal to child, woman, and man of the deep and of the wild      
Cognitive awareness by divine perceptions as an Indigo Child      
The flowers of the winds, the Lotus flower, a beautiful adoration as it thrives upon its throne within the sanctuary of a muddy waterbed in its darkest hour      
     
You may name me      
You may riddle to the powers that be      
I am from the highest oracle that time or mortals must decipher in the state of reprieve      
I come in the name of He, and I humbly bow to the incantations professed of Him      
The shield in the fest of His honor, in my anointment to Earthy Canis and the castaways Jinn’s      
     
     
Selah