Still Here

They laugh at the sky, but we heard the wing a rustle of thunder

no storm could bring. From heaven’s vault, unasked, unnamed,

the Angel descended, and I still remain. Years stack like stones on a

martyr’s grave, yet here we stand, unshattered, unshaved.

The furnace roared, the lions paced We walked out laughing, fire on our

face. Blasphemy hisses, a serpent’s coil, but truth is our spine,

and grace our oil. They curse the Name, they mock the

Host we lift the Cross, and silence the boast. The Word is