FALLEN FROM HIS GLORY

Sir,

The most fallacious of all fallacies; death will not certainly come to you. A lightning-expression, as if shot from the quiver of infallible wisdom, straight from the musical vocal cords in a corporal reptilian body suit; with its charismatic spoken word units of malignant intentions.

Counteracting the divine order to sabotage the master’s purpose. Now, I don’t intend to be judgmental, but it doesn’t make sense because in the heavenly realms is an ongoing investigative judgment. How could you not foresee the consequence or even take a moment of thorough consideration; how could you forget the sound of your master’s voice, the same voice that spoke everything into existence? The same voice that uttered complimentary remarks in adoration of your extraordinary perfection. How could you be one dimensional and disregard that you’re choking from the rising paroxysm of guilt?

Were I to enter into a detailed description of the perpetration, which the first conniving parents indulged in, perhaps I’d end up overlooking my own transgression, as what befalls many other men and women. Perhaps I wouldn’t even have written this lamentation; therefore I shall be concise and succinct in my discourse because I do not mean to claim that I’d have done much better. But how can a man be so loyal to his spouse, that they compromise their abidance by the Lord’s instructions.

A man who had the once in a lifetime privilege to hear the voice; the only voice that is like a clap of thunder, which interrupts the warbling birds among the leaves. But we of this generation, have inherited a diabolic condescension, therefore we have not had the pleasure of hearing that voice. The truth we cannot escape nor conceal, however, still stands; we were the express image of a king who spoke, and His voice was like a rocket discharging a shower of golden stars but our disdainful acts contradict the similitude. It slowly moved off and finally disappeared, like shapes breathed on a mirror and melting away.

Unfortunately, we’ve conformed to this never ending holocaust of iniquity, to the extent that we traded our impeccability. Our level of desensitisation has reached a hyperbolic clash with reality. By apparent means this is a mind controlling entity, proportional to our fallen state; fallen into the convenient oblivion of the waste-basket. After all we stumble, falter and fall. Who then can interrogate God, for not having the pleasure of placing our names in the great book of life?

The whole truth, naked, cold, and fatal as a patriot’s blade, is based on humanity jumping off the infinite story tower of God’s glory. He weighed us on the scales, empty vessels found wanting and filled with fallibility. Of course he was hurt, as if a knife had severed his sinews; His heart was beaten to the ground by the Luciferian catastrophic move, thus His wrath shall lay first upon our conscience in a trance. And His revenge descend like a sudden retort that cuts through the bounds of life and death. Of one thing, however, I am certain; we all have a natural reflex that makes us to get up each time we fall. Even unknown fallen cadavers shall be resurrected, so no matter how melancholic and distressing being a sentinel here is; trouble not yourselves, for you bear evident reflection of the afterlife.

Honesty Nxumalo

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