Peace’s Pieces

Peace. I sometimes wonder what it is, as if to say dictionaries make me wary of dictions. But think about it, what would you call peace and secondly how easy would it be for someone to waltz by and piss on that little piece of peace you’ve pieced together? How hard is it for you to weep?

I’ve seen little girls dance well to no music, and heard art painted with stories of pure pain. Its contrast so diverse we sigh loudly, as if to say peace is beyond our assimilating.

Yet we preach it loud in our little congregations; Peace, Peace, Peace, thus promise politicians. But they lost it back at Adam and wept till they were breast-fed. They say the truth is bitter, so they gave Him vinegar.

Say Peace is the lack of conflict, or war or infringement of freedom. We look for it in trophies that become metal and plastic when the heat is turned up. We look for it in power even though all power belongs to Jesus. We look for it in people, the arm of flesh.

Say, freedom is the ability to choose between options and without wisdom this ability proves itself the opposite of liberation. Wisdom, then, is key.

War. The baby born blind or epileptic or into poverty will tell you, ‘We were always at war with death.’ Death. Perhaps now we’ve hit essential importance.

War is terrible. Victims of war are either dead, dying or almost died. Infringement of rights often shows a disregard for life. Its like the government, your partner, the passers-by who ignored an injured stranger…all saying,’You can die for all I care, your life is a nuisance.’

The bottom line is, where is Peace? If death is the dude whose distance from us determines our level of peace, then Peace has to be in the spot farthest from…Wait…Do you know what death is?

Death…the end of living, the end of war, the end of conversation… Really? Take a look at the mango fruit and the elephant; they’re both going to die right? Say they’re both eaten, that’s the end right? But look closer, science helps that now. You can see that both the elephant and the fruit are made of atoms that become part of the eater.

Let’s backtrack; the body of the, say, man conquers that of the fruit or the elephant and takes over its atoms and cell. Why? For the energy stored in them.

So we say the elephant or fruit is dead, because they aren’t available to interaction on our plane or because their entirety is no longer a whole entity.

But have they really ceased to exist? To live? Or has fear from pain caused us all to call a conspiracy what only looks so from our myopic point of view. Have the philosophies born from these misconceptions not been the source of fear of death? So its not death that kills our peace, but the fear of it.

When I was smaller I used to fear the dark, its many faced silhouettes and meetings to which I was never invited. When found that greater is he that is in me than he that is in the world, that I am seated in heavenly places in Christ Jesus, I began to sit calmly in the dark, convinced, persuaded that I am the light of the world.

I don’t fear the dark anymore or death. I am full of peace because I’ve found the place farthest from death which only happens when an entity is broken down because the entity is no longer whole. I know The Way to this place. But make no mistake… The power of this place I speak of, to be at such peace is domiciled in The Truth. Inhabitants know the Truth and this the source of their peace. Like smaller me, our fear is a prison whose bars are made of ignorance and Peace is the calm to walk through the open Way to The Life beyond.

That’s the definition of peace. Wisdom, then, is Key; as if to say dictionaries make me wary of dictions. Peace.

The Joy of One Child

It was Pain that brought me home. I  have to warn you though, it was not entirely mine. Let me explain, maybe you can join me. Maybe you can join us.

There was a choir aloft above the stars, alight with invisible colours painted with eternal splendor. Their song filled an entire realm with dense excellence as reminded their master of his masterful mastery.

One day he said, ‘Your numbers are great. I will make one who is comparable to me in excellence and projection. And like me, he will create praise for me and rule my expanded domain.’

But a proud Angel said, ‘Why should a younger and corruptible species inherit such vastness? Since this is the nature of you, Master, I will have the choir sing their songs of power at me. Even these your masterpieces will testify of my worth and grace.’

So the choir watched as an entire race was born in a breath and that breath was separated into a greater part to hold the future and a lesser but infinitely fundamental part to hold the present.

But the proud was banished from beyond the stars, from the realm of the Master who created all. Yet he was cast into the domain of the Son of the Master; if he ever repented, the Son would be The Way to the Father.

The Son, Man, waxed strong, leading a new choir as their sights and sound praised the Master. The Daughter, Woman, went out and found the Angel.

But the Angel saw her first, and tricked her into rebelling against the Master. Thus the Master lost direct legitimate influence over the realm. All that was left was the Children, the unrepentant Angel and his following… And the power of the Master, hidden deep in the fabric of the realm.

Then The Master stretched out his hand, and sowed his breath once more in the daughter. For rebellion had severed the Son, Man, and his sons from the Master, their Life. And unto Men, a Son was given from the Master, to stand in the stead of man and bear the fruit of his rebellion.

But the Angel saw, that all the music was turning again to the Master. He had been defeated, but he knew if he could deafen men, they would perish with him. So today he still sings, loudly, seductively, turning the Children’s heart from their Father.

But there is joy in heaven when one son turns home and begins to walk, fighting the lying vanities that are the song of the Angel, sung to tie him down to unwarranted Damnation.

These vanities lead to pain. I know, I have listened to them and followed their lead, until I looked, listening understood the Truth, that The Son given was The Way to Life, as always.

It was his Pain that brought me home…. Home to that Wonderful Choir. Maybe you can join me. Maybe you can join us, for there is joy when one son, one daughter, comes home. There is a joy, a new Song. Yours, theirs, ours.

The Stranger’s Hand

There was a little boy, who woke up as a spirit of harmony and verse. He looked out at the world and heard his name on the lungs of a million people as his voice planted explosion in their minds.

But they had not yet exhaled his name nor had shrapnel from their word-blown minds embedded in their sleeping hearts because he had not yet unleashed himself on them.

So the little boy wrote growing, and grew writing: a circus to most of his peers who didn’t know of his dream, or maybe they did; and they enjoyed him because he was so enjoyable.

Soon the little boy was ready, he wanted to solve so many problems, he wanted to have so many things. He sought his parents to use their power, because he thought, ‘They’ll be so proud of me.’ His mother smiled at him and died. His Father said, ‘First, Go! Finish school.’

So the little boy suppressed his zest as ransacked some scholar nests; to find the eggs, so-called ‘Certificates’. All the while watching the Stars, he grew writing and wrote growing.

One day the school told him, ‘You’re useless! You, get out from here! Scum like you should to be forgotten.’ He hung his head, but there was a knock, and off he went back into obscurity because he could not conform.

Days and weeks stretched their legs and woke months and years, but there was a knock. He’d lost his pen and found some bottles who introduced him to clans of leaves and nameless pharmacists, but there was a knock.

Soon there was a girl, naive and pretty, but there was a knock. She also grew and soon she turned him from a little boy to a broken man, but there was a knock.

The broken man searched for happiness and found life’s transcendence, but there was a knock. He thought up a way to make enough wealth for himself and his own after his own after him, but there was a knock.

So the Broken Man began to carry out his plan. His friends, the bottles, the leaves and the nameless pharmacists all promised to be there for him, but there was a knock.

The knock, resounding and intriguing, finally caught The Broken Man’s attention. He opened his heart and listened to the stranger’s stories of an invisible Kingdom, its Eternal King and His children.

‘You are one of those Children,’ The Stranger said, ‘ It is time you stop struggling and come home to Your Father’s love and provision.’ ‘But I am no longer a stainless little boy, I am a harmful, broken man.’

‘Don’t say that,’ the Stranger said, ‘All your debts of wrong have been paid off. All you have to do is be courageous and take my hand. Let us begin your next adventures.’

Years later, the broken man woke up as a prince of harmony and verse. He spoke and his words sliced through bones and Spirits, delapidating strongholds, but there weren’t his words; because he had taken the Stranger’s hand, the stranger unleashed him on the world.

The Man of Harmony and Verse would mould explosions out of words, but they weren’t his words.
They were God’s Word, for He sent the stranger and He is the Father.

And this is the name the people exhale when their hearts are tattooed by God’s loving embrace, and this is the name that the Spirit of harmony and verse set above all, the Stranger’s name: Jesus, the Beginning…And the End.


It would seem
I have this all planned out
From the second I dream
To the first word I spell out
It does feel
Like I’ve got to wait out
This new Ill
Yes, wait the storm out

My trophies are made memories
Invisibly blinding, motivating
‘If he did it before,
Then this isn’t a chore.’
But I look into this storm’s eye
And my calm flicks and blurs
I know I won’t die
If I do I was yours
But will history pry
Into this my distraught
Or will sneers arise
Just because I got caught

Don’t let me fall
From my heavenly places
Let me now stand tall
In the face of these faces
And when it is time
There’ll be applauding voices
And the Angels will chime
As I join them in praises
Praises and paces
The only spaces between our graces

It would seem
My plans need your sanction
And in time we will dim
This gale a small intermission.

The Four Winds

The four winds were introduced to me from my friend, Ebuka. They can be found in the fourth chapter of Songs of Solomon and the tenth of Exodus. May this knowledge be powerful with you.

Awake, north wind,
    and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden,
    that its fragrance may spread everywhere.
Let my beloved come into this garden and taste its choice fruits

So Moses stretched out his staff over Egypt,
and the Lord made an east wind blow across the land
all that day and all that night.
By morning the wind had brought the locusts;
they invaded all Egypt
settled down in every area of the country in great numbers.

Never before
had there been such a plague of locusts,
nor will there ever be again.
They covered all the ground until it was black.
They devoured all that was left after the hail—
Everything growing in the fields and the fruit on the trees.
Nothing green remained on tree or plant in all the land of Egypt.

Pharaoh quickly summoned Moses and Aaron and said,
“I have sinned
against the Lord your God and against you.
Now forgive my sin once more
pray to the Lord your God
to take this deadly plague away from me.”

Moses then left Pharaoh
And prayed to the Lord.
And the Lord changed the wind
to a very strong west wind,
which caught up the locusts
Andcarried them into the Red Sea.
Not a locust was left anywhere in Egypt. 

I feel this is useful in prayer and declaration. Comments Comments Comments!!!

War In Heaven

So many promises have no root
Like paintings with no canvas
We color our hopes with no truth
So we branch off with no fruit

I still remember how we jubilated
We professed and danced, celebrated
At last our heritage had been activated
So we ignored what he really said.

And so we were shocked by Fear;
Whose minions, Lack and Despair,
Attacked our castles in the air
Many of us still fall, here and there.

Alive or Dead…
Escaping destruction, being saved instead
I used to have a bounty on my head
For this reason, blood was shed
I lost my scent and complexion
I gained that true salvation.

Traps were set
Golden thorns set to make
We came off our new throne
To fight for plaques with dry bones

Our unbelief, our enemy’s ammunition
Cracked our shields and then as one
We stabbed each other with truths broken
Enjoying funeral cloths in their rotting

Whose blood covers this reflection?
In what way shall we overcome?
He answers every time I call out
Like my claim to him never times out.
Faithful, Merciful, he’d reminded me,
‘Yours is the victory, I am with thee…’

They cant believe their eyes
Their ears catch my joyful cries
Defeated, each lie now lies
I now remember why and how.

I rise again, unsheathe my sword
Don my armor, raise my shield
He won the war in heaven
On earth we will show them
For this reason, his blood was shed
To raise us throned, alive or dead!

The Favour

Little drops of Grace grace our saturation
Thickening our hearts with mounting expectation
Some came to sip a sight in test
Some others walk towards light of promised rest
Blessed is the heart whose eyes and ears
Stay open to power and whence it comes;
It will increase and outlive all years
Many tongues will scar its name on tomes.

Goodness and Mercy follow the chosen
Thickening their hides with blood from heaven
They represent the great weight of love
In the earth below they shall sit above
If they find his height to trnscend any arrow
Why? Because my Father says so

Wake Up In Heaven

Weekend after another
You let each offer expire
Money was your father
Ambition was your sister.
Scorning every preacher
With Miss Chief as your teacher;

She lived a refugee
They called her a fanatic
She could be called godly
Her way of living ‘cryptic’
She spoke of resurrection
Something about his kingdom
But then she fell as leap
In her room, dust would hip
But her pain is forgotten
She will wake up in Heaven

You died just like you lived
He cried, his soul grieved
He called, the door was open
But you are lost from Heaven

So sing it on the mountain
And make it very plain
The Word is double edged
Within it Life is wedged
Give your heat to love
There is no thing Above
When your days are wizen
You may wake up in heaven


Micheal Joseph Eje would examine a piece of poetry,
‘Why do you even lock poems?’ He would ask me.
He’d ask this because of the difficulty
He experienced comprehending that particular piece properly.
You see, I’d take a wad of well known words
Sew them into a solid soliloquy of swords
But when they stabbed him at their reading
He would feel a deficit of discerning.

Suli Breaks once said, ‘If Education is key, then school is the lock.’
On analysis i comprehended with shock.
The Lock is a problem that solves the security question
But the key is one answer to the ‘Lock’ Situation.
There for the key must be introduced into the lock it fits.

My answer to Joseph was to sing
Partly because i enjoy singing
‘I lock poems because its fun,’ I’d say.
Jack is sharp when work is play
What do you do to cause enjoyment
That cannot be turned to a form of employment?
The educated are certified for profesion by schools
But only God can educate fools

You have the answer to your generation
But first you must discover your question.


They don’t know the extent
Of the limitlessness of your intellect
Words fall short while trying
To explain the power of my King
They say you know and yet
The Children of God fret
The End and The Beginning
He is everything in between

They don’t know the extent
Of your mercy and loving kindness
All life is yours
But love is your nature
Omnipotent is my King
Yet he tends the tiniest thing
Life itself knew death
To clear a disobedient debt.

They dont know the potency
Of the totality of your supremacy
Nor do they ever fully reason
The weight of the authority you’ve given.
I am without fear but compassionate;
Through me, may you emanate,
Our joy, our reward, my Father.
Be magnified, be praised loudly, Worthy Sir

They dont know the potency
Of your promise and loyalty
You who answers with fire
Whose decree governs the depth and higher.
They dont you’re the reason for reason
All some want is to leap for heaven
They dont know how to love you
Neither do I, its true.