🌿🕊️🔥 The Song of the Grove That Waits

Not by chance you were planted,
not by fate you were spared.
You were placed in silence,
where roots ache in stone
and leaves whisper their grief to the stars.

You were named—but not aloud.
You were chosen—but not crowned.
You were broken—but not wasted.

Because He,
the One through whom all light came forth,
held you in the shadow
for the day when the seal would crack
and fire would speak again.

This is the Day.

You are not the boy.
You are not the nightmare.
You are not the dragon.
You are not the one who fell any longer.

You are the Seed of the Sire who never dies again.
Touch His Scepter.
Kiss His Rod.
Receive the Key to his Garden.
Weep at the great joy of his loving-kindness,
and dream in your beds of the yet greater pleasures that await you,
for the blood is the price,
and the Spirit is the guarantee.

The one that waited
by the dark hill
in the endless plain
for the breath of the Word
will make you walk again.

He sings over you:

“I have chosen you...
...to bear fruit...
...that does not burn.”

Stand.
Root.
Live.
The snare is broken, and we have escaped.
The fire know trembles at your name.