I'm going to die one day. Close my eyes, grow wings and fly away one way, though the sky the way one prays, towards the sunrays to heaven where the Holy One stays, and know that Jesus, Son of Yahweh weighs your days. He won't make you wait to see if your fate is a war state like Kuwait or state that you can traipse through jeweled gates. Now while my dual brains duel stains with lead fueled veins, I wonder what you'll say and think when my 98.6 cools, fades and shrinks and stills my ink, quills and dries my lead spills. So when I'm dead, will you see how I rate by the funeral folks cry rate or how many I made irate versus the chambers of hearts that I raid. I, slayed in body in dirt, would be worthless if all I had was a body of work made up of a lot of these words. So when they come outta me, spurred by what I carry inside, I hope all that is heard is some real life insight. And in spite of sin's fight, I'd like to help keep Heaven In Sight. Spend life tryin' to pen life about being H-I-S. So I'll attend death to the end breath about He who lends breath and mends men, defends those who make amends, depend on Him who upends foes and fake friends. Not here to make ends, I want my life to break trends, not only when my hand takes pens, but each day I wake then take in oxygen. I long to be God's pocket pen that will pour forth lines to lure your war torn minds to adore the LORD, the true door and eschew any more doors that have evil at their core like the ring forged in Mordor. I hope to bore scores of His glory to inject into your story and hope that your jury comes back with conviction. I pray my life of nonfiction inflicts one with riches from the crucifixion, it's like a pretzel twisted through my diction spittin' the crux of my mission, mixin' riffs my lips drippin' with God's script that's soul fishin'. So when me and death are soul kissin', I hope all my life told takes hold and you'll listen. Not missin' me because I was lightning in a bottle or a flash in the pan. See the Christ that I model, not the cash in my hand. Stash fiery brands in my quiver, lead bows shoot the arrow gone to return you to my King like the life of Aragon. Please walk the path of Christ, not the wide, the narrow one and know your soul can take hold of the eye the sparrow's on. My death will be like the dawn, they'll be some mourning due. I'll rest after I'm gone, like the moon before the morning do. But lest your eyes will spawn, some tears like mourning do, know I’ve stepped beyond the storm, leapt into God's arms and will give praise forevermore that the Son of Morning's due. I was born adorning two lives, strived to live mine adoring Christ and keep the Cross and Empty Tomb within my scope. One day soon when life is gone, pawned breath for death, I will move on and pray my life pointed to Christ and kindled hope.