Lent be the purpose

I rise, I walk, my way not conceived, my path already disturbed.

Man seeks tears; they are after them; they utter discrepancies; they walk in violence.

Let justice deliver me. I live for a song. I walk through a river.

From my upbringing, the day I was delivered, let me be lent because I do not know the way.

So when I say move, do not listen to the voice; try to discern the purpose that drew you out of your shoes.

In the correct direction I am moved, do not complain, do not praise the stride; it is the one who leads me that knows.

Diamond for diamond, shepherds for flocks, let you not be rogue; your leader has a shepherd.

Trust in your King; move not the bruised; walk in the way laid for you at birth.

I am lent; I am lent; I live not for myself; purpose moves through the droves.

It is quick, it is precise, it gives hope to the lost, and it guides the little with throng.

Let it be strong; let courage be its weapon in war; it guides the little and moves the great.

It gathers all; it finds masters; beauty is the purpose, but greater is the above.

On high unseen, he distributes it to all, some to be great and some to be lowly.

Wear the belt of vision; see who you really are; you are not rich; you are not lowly; you are purpose.

Find it, wear it as your breastplate, and put no trust in it alone; you can’t manoeuvre it.

It goes deeper; it sinks inward; it’s great for the young; it is success for the old.

So cry, my baby; lie not, my dear; do not lie; beauty is not the face; it is the heart and spirit.

On two quests they receive, one for light and another for darkness, the heart chooses its purpose, and the spirit is moved to ignition.

Swift it rides, stones it finds; alone it cannot do it; let a sire find mercy.

Lean not on purpose; find the one who lent it; he makes you strong for war; he breaks off barriers of wrong.

So rise, my child, and look at the beautiful skies; they are not yours, nor are they your brother’s; they are a sandclock for purpose.

Morning rises, you are hastened, dawn elapses, it’s now dusk, seasons measure the length of the year, and your soul measures the strength of your purpose.

When war rises from the west, let it not sink in the east; find your master fast; let him show you the song of the end.

The beginning is not the last, and the end is not the first. The righteous are a good branch; you must never loosen their fruit.

They feed the feeble, they stand up for the wrong, they attack the merciless, they hate injustice.

Dawn break like fire, please give them a worth sire, purpose has enveloped the world, it’s a tool for sword of the wrong.

Rise they rise, they attack the weak, they feed on the righteous, they make it their purpose.

So rise fire rise, devour like the Spirit in search of justice, please bring justice, only you can do it.

The quest of the wrong, the thirst of the right, they do not seek livelihood they seek a paycheck.

The way of the hungry, the zest of the poor, they are not after cruelty, they are after the welfare of their children.

So warn them I say, teach them that money is not a god, that riches are not a purpose, all is just futile success.

It comes to the hardworking, it is the aim of the wise, they seek it with tears, in the end fake purpose is disappointment.

Upon the quest, upon the verge, let lies diminish and let truth prevail, that fish for the net and justice for the feeble.

They feel mighty in their way; they feel attacked in good deeds; wrong has prevailed with darkness; it has become their daily bread.

One grows, becomes mighty, and becomes a role model, no man sassy; they feed everyone with the wrong purpose; they have futile power; they poison what is right.

Let good fight, I say good; let wrong be shown the door to justice; let the rod of wicked fury fail; and let grace be upon the rise.

Walk in the shoes of the mighty; you are not great, so your boasting cuts it. Purpose pervades the soul, so let it not be dark.

But sing a song upon a tree; let you seek what is good in deeds; let you find a pure purpose; let you be given a wash for your feet.

When they rise, I say they rise; when they see their fall, they hunt with their weapons; let judgement find the foe; let the end be not for the wise.

Let not your purpose define you; let it not be what you live for; you will be empty; you will not find rest or solace; your days will be gleaming.

The End