He’ll arrive, the child waits, prays regularly, says it in private, no one knows, his prayer. Solomon listened, he was a child too, of His Father, the trouble was, which the small child didn’t know, that those with talents, sold them for cash, to transform their own lives, others an after thought.
At school he concentrates, he’ll arrive, the promise. Day passes into weeks, the weeks become a semester, a year, the child still waits. Seeking comfort, anything to ease his anxiety, he dabbles in playing mind games, when that comfort leaves him, he dabbles with pills, the alcohol follows, the rest is history. The void had to be filled, not with empty promises, but with today. The changes going on globally, were just a reflection of what the Big Child had to endure, just as Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen sang about.
He sits in the corner, doesn’t talk, refuses to co-operate, won’t eat vegetables, he is making his complaint, amen to the Big Child.
Before matters worsened for all the big children, it was time those who hid the secrets of true wisdom,
and the many warnings given down through the ages, opened up. Solomon saw the Holy Spirit, the other gifts too, God Most High was not myth, and those in positions of authority were under the spotlight like never before, amen.