by A. R. Perez

Composing ministry amidst the
Saturated New World, where
Amassed incessant blathering, hail
Attention schemers and charlatans;
Peasants, beggars and all.

Redundant fucking noise,
Repetitious agenda theology,
Stealing His hidden invisible;
Why care I, have I really any say?
Proceed, for irrelevancy’s sake?

A decent room, 32 souls full;
Obliged, yes, but maybe,
Half not real, that’s 16;
Half don’t pay, that’s 8;
Half bored, 4 and half true, 2;
Two who give a shit, and to both,
My deepest sorrow, I forgot you.

Busily chasing false intangibles,
Craving elusive delectable stats;
Egos don’t share God and Son,
Rather, infect His tiny blue spec,
With nature born foul, and
Feral man-made unknowns.

If brick and mortar,
Shut the doors,
If one, turn away,
If zero, abandon the search;
I failed His true test;
Maybe two, possibly more.

But a thought, so fucking obvious;
An object sat visibly on my shelf;
Individual leaf, gloriously alive,
Believed vanished, forever dead,
A Where’s Waldo event.

Spiritus, by design a contagion,
Heavenly, showing The Way;
His ask, over coffee, or globe,
Sola Fide must manifest; so
Just the three of us, for now;
I’m cool with that, are you?

©2025 ©Artist Robert Perez™
All rights reserved | 100% AI Free

VERBA DIVINA | Coming 2026

Deus verus est
Christus Adventus™
Sola Fide

F01 | © Nov 18th, 2025 Artist Robert Perez™