I step into the rot of negligence,
where hollow prayers echo off broken promises.
My breath becomes a hymn,
a trembling flame summoned from ancient dust.

God didn't call me to be liked-
He poured daylight into my soul,
set my veins ablaze with dawn.
And light, by its very nature,
unmasks the corners where darkness hides.

I walk through rooms thick with secrets,
faces turned away from truth's glare.
They clutch their comforts-rusted chains of fear-
while I carry a torch in each hand,
each flicker a rebellion against their night.

They whisper "too much" behind closed doors,
brand me a zealot for daring to glow.
But this fire isn't mine-it's borrowed thunder,
Stolen from a carpenter who
turned death to dust,
who whispered "Rise" in an empty tomb.

So I speak in tongues of grace,
a fierce lullaby to the lost,
and the walls clatter under my voice-
for every syllable is a hammer
striking complacency's coffin.

I am a city on a hill,
impossible to conceal, each pulse a gospel,
each heartbeat a declaration:
"Here is the day of the Lord."

When darkness rages-
snarling in the streets of doubt-
I shine brighter,
until shadows scatter like startled birds.

They offer me smiles dipped in lies,
but I trade them for tears of repentance,
knowing sorrow blooms fertile.
When the Spirit waters it.

Let them call me radical-
I wear it as a badge of honor.
For the cross itself was scandal,
and the resurrected dawn
was the loudest act of defiance.

I carry in my pocket
the promise that light cannot be snuffed,
the vow that every shattered heart
can be refashioned into living art.

So bring on the night-
it only makes my flame more fierce.
I will burn until every hidden lament
rises in song

I will stand at the gates of hell's enclave,

my silhouette a lighthouse

tobevery weary traveler.

God didn't call me to be liked-

He called me to be light.

And I will pierce this darkness

with the radiance of His name.