Beyond Peace

  by the one who didn't fold in the fire I’ve died a hundred deaths before this age. Buried versions of me that never got a funeral. Prayed with cracked lips and tear-choked lungs, asking Heaven, “When does the promise start to live?” They told me 33 was when Christ ascended. But no one talks about thirty-two — the year before the crown, the pressure before the public. Thirty-two is where He walked with full awareness of what was coming— and still chose obedience over escape. So here I am. On the cusp of becoming. With blood on my hands that ain’t mine, wisdom in my eyes that no one asked for, and fire in my gut that don’t shut off. They thought I skipped the step, but I was the step. They thought I missed the number, but I was holding the equation. All the math led here. Every loss. Every late night. Every locked door. Every “no” that felt like betrayal was a coordinate being plotted on a map only angels could read. I AM POSITIONED. Not waiting. Not w...

  Spoken Word for the Remnant They pressed their palms on the pulse of the world, tightened the grid like a noose made of numbers, hoping we’d forget how to feel how to see how to breathe without permission. They built a matrix of mirrors and called it truth— each screen, a spell each update, a chain each law, a cage wrapped in civility. But something strange happened when the saints went silent. Not broken— Bracing. When they pushed harder— we didn’t shatter. We began to hum . You see— Two magnets, same charge, will never lie down together. They don’t blend. They repel . That’s what this is. That’s us . We are the polarity they can’t program. They put pressure on our backs, but didn’t realize: Resistance isn’t weakness— it’s prophecy made friction. We’re not panicked. We’re positioned. We’ve matched the weight. And now we’re standing at the edge of: The Singularity. Not AI. Not tech. Not some algorithmic god. But a cosmic contradiction ...

  They say with great knowledge comes great sorrow. And I know why. Because when your eyes open, you don’t just see the light— you see the cracks. You see the suffering others scroll past. You see the illusions people call home. You can’t unknow it. You can’t unsee it. Ignorance is a blanket. Knowledge rips it off, and suddenly you’re awake, shivering in the cold truth. But listen— that sorrow? It’s not punishment. It’s preparation. Because knowledge without wisdom is despair. But knowledge with wisdom is compassion. It turns grief into empathy, burden into purpose, weight into fuel. Yes, knowledge hurts. Yes, it makes the soul heavy. But it also arms you with vision, with clarity, with the power to walk into darkness and still carry the light. So let them say it: “Great knowledge brings great sorrow.” I’ll answer: “And sorrow, when endured, brings great strength.”

They told me power was control. But the tighter I gripped, the faster it slipped through my hands. Then I let go. I bowed low. I admitted— I am powerless. And in that moment, the current caught me. The Infinite filled me. And I rose—not as weak, but unstoppable. Because only when you accept you’re powerless, do you gain all your power.

  What do you call a spark that laughs at the fire it started? A grin stitched into the shadows, a whisper that turns walls into question marks? This isn’t chaos. It’s choreography with dirty shoes. It’s the sly hand pulling threads from the tapestry, knowing the whole fabric will unravel just to reveal the skeleton of truth underneath. Inconceivable mischief— that’s the art of making the impossible blush. Of dancing circles around logic until logic looks dizzy. Of tossing pebbles into glass castles and calling it music. It hides in the smirk of a child who knows the cookie jar isn’t nearly as sacred as you pretend it is. It rides shotgun with trickster gods, those who steal thunderbolts and trade them for riddles. It is the unseen architect of every revolution, the prank that breaks a system, the laugh that carries weight heavier than war. Because what they cannot conceive, they cannot control. And what they cannot control, they fear. So raise a toast t...