Ultimate Director
Ultimate Director
By Arley Steinhour 111710 (rev 111716)
Have you ever heard a violin,
Stradivarius, let's say,
Focused only on the sound,
Not the music that it play?
Should, you say Yes,
You're soundly blessed,
If, No, your appreciation
Be at Rest, at best.
Should, you say Yes,
You're soundly blessed,
If, No, your appreciation
Be at Rest, at best.
I speak not about the melody,
Good or bad, not a care,
It's the quality of instrument,
And 'Who Directs, Maestro,' there.
Call, Stradivarius, Planet Earth,
And, Only GOD, the Director, Be,
The music, be the happenings,
Natural, or man-made, you see.
The seats are packed with people,
Plus many in Standing-Room Crowd,
The population, of Planet Earth,
Attends, and can be quite loud.
Crowd noise of Idle-Chatter, Rains,
A Din, over every person near,
No one hears the baton rap, nor
Maestro's play, due, wax of ear.
Slowly, crowd does quiet down,
To hear Music, that's in Play,
Hear what Maestro's finger work,
Makes the Stradivarius' Say.
Audience, now still, as can be,
Note score, to which they sway,
The music of the 'Master,'
Isn't being played today.
Searching deep within their brains,
Some recognize the play,
Panic, then, fills their eyes,
As they start to Cry and Say;
The Maestro isn't who we thought,
A Fake, on Stage does surly play,
God, will now, manipulate,
The unsaved, who've gone astray.
They, will all, stand, and sway,
As if, They, to Maestro belong,
Some eyes focus on Conductor,
In Box, now seen by the Throng.
Those few, who quickly noticed,
Be the 'Chosen,' Director came to 'Call,'
They Joyously cast their gaze upon,
Conductor, as 'On Faces, they All Fall.'
Some how, in a 'Twinkling,'
Of Every Mortal Eye,
Those few, ceases-to-be,
Disappearing, into the Sky.
Remnant, of 'Church/Bride,' they be,
Bride, Raptured, by the Groom,
Other souls mat 'Bend a Knee,'
In worship of God, but, 'Too Late.'
The maestro, starts to take a bow,
But there's very few people there,
Arc-Angel, name of Michael,
Grabs, maestro by the hair.
Chained and bound securely,
Maestro-Satan locked away,
Not to return and bother man,
For a thousand years, of days.
The 'Word of God,' Takes Control,
Of Planet Earth, that day,
To Rule, with Law, and Iron Rod,
Cleaning final Dross Away.
Once a thousand years have passed,
God frees Satan again, but only to lure,
'Sour Souls,' on Planet Earth,
Who, Insist, on being Impure.
The war that comes, is very short,
Fought by God's Word, as He Defends,
They raise arms to fight a fight,
HE speaks Word, meaning, 'This Ends.'
Final Judgment, takes a little time,
As, 'Dead' Souls learn their Home,
'Sheep and Goats,' are directed,
Right, or Left, At the 'Great-White-Throne.'
Millennials, Faithful to Messiah,
Will have Eternity of JOY, to See
To Live Before Our God Jesus,
Forever, and, Ever More, 'Be FREE.'
AMEN
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