I Choose Life

He who desires life and loves many days,
Let him deaden the flesh and walk the Spirit-ways...
I choose to be a servant of God
Not a slave of sin in the devil's squad.
 
I choose to be a pencil in His hands
Not a pawn of immorality in Satan's plans.
I choose Christ my life to control
Not let the Devil sift my soul.
 
I'd rather have the company of His cherubs
Than rub elbows with the spirits of Beelzebub.
I'll seek God's face in times of trial
Not the oracle of accursed Belial.
 
In Him I'll place an unending trust
Not hope in mammon nor in walking dusts.
The vine is Jesus in whom I'll abide;
His name is the tower where I shall hide. 

Written by Kingsley U. Ayistar

Here Am I, Lord, Thine Own To Bruise

Here am I, Lord, thine own to bruise
And bind up, only for thy use.
Chastise now my rebelling soul;
Whilst Thou woundest me, make me whole.

My feeble hands quicken and train;
Fix up these knees that eas'ly sprain.
Sheer me off the unrighteous path
Where endeth wrath for the fool's bath.

I grasp that he whom Thou lovest
When erreth him, Thou reprovest.
For good Thou wilt my style correct,
So I be found in Thee perfect.

Oh, how they fall that doth despise
Thy right statutes, Thy warning eyes;
They that Thy counsels loathe to hear
The wand'ring cat seekest to tear.

Here am I, Lord, born for Thy will;
Melt and morph me aright until
My parts adopt Thy chosen frame:
Faultless vessel, carved in Thy flame.

By Kingsley U. Ayistar ©2013

CARVED IMAGES

No, I won't bow to your carved images!
Can they heal the sick or give life?
They will turn soot when the Most High rages!
No! I won't bow to your carved images!

Unto different gods, you savages
Hammer on drums and blast on fifes;
You chant foul songs- your elders and sages,
And sacrifice babes with your knives!

No! I won't bow! To your carved images:
Can they heal the sick or give life?
Set me aflame in cruelest of cages,
I WILL NOT BOW TO YOUR CARVED IMAGES!

written by Kingsley U. Ayistar

Disappointed

Long I laboured, this wind to
tame,
Sowed all my hopes in earthly brains,
Their faith wavered like candle
flame;
Away, hanging on the Night, plain!
 
Promises I smoked like cigars.
Like pooch, I enjoyed sniffing words
Wagged my tail for pompous liars
That now have my ire incurred.
 
Foolish me! The fault bears my seal;
I see now that the Writ is right!
If I prayed, would God not me heal,
And keep my life from long-term plight?
 
"Cursed is the one that trusts in man"
Clemency, gracious King, I plead!
Scoop me out of this flaming pan,
Lest I be cooked as Satan's feed!
 
For "Vain is man's deliverance." -
This You've proven in my distress...
Give to me, Lord, another chance,
Without you, I remain a mess!

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Jeremiah 17: 5 Thus says the Lord: "Cursed is the man who trusts in man and makes flesh his strength. whose heart departs from the Lord"