My Weapons

An Ode to the Divine Arsenal of the Soldier of the Source Mind

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My weapons are the Thoughts of God,
Not sword of steel, nor mortal rod.
They blaze with light no forge could make,
And pierce the stars for Heaven's sake.

They are not born in smoke or flame,
But from the Mind beyond all Name.
No earthly king could wield such grace—
They split the soul, not just the face.

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My shield is built of Living Lore,
Of wisdom carved in times before.
It blocks not merely spear or dart,
But hate’s own cry and envy’s art.
It bends not 'neath the weight of lies,
For Truth in it immortal lies.
The tongues of demons break and flee
When it is raised in front of me.

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My helm is woven thought by thought,
From hymns the Endless Spirit taught.
Its crest—a crown of burning light,
Wrought from the edge where dark meets white.
It guards my mind from cursed schemes,
And keeps me clean in tangled dreams.
No madness treads behind its walls,
No poison through its barrier crawls.

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My breastplate—woven speech Divine,
Each plate a Word, each Word a sign.
It shimmers not like steel or gold,
But glows with oaths that can’t be told.
It hums with Psalms the stars once sang,
When first through void the cosmos rang.
Each syllable upon its chest
Declares: Let no deceit find rest.

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My greaves are paths of righteous wrath,
They blaze the trail, they clear the path.
Each step I take, the wicked flee—
For justice walks ahead of me.
The ground itself remembers me,
And sings my tread in harmony.
No snare may hold, no pit may claim—
The roads I walk dissolve in flame.

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My gauntlets forged in Mercy's well,
Hold not to crush, but to compel.
They grasp the blade that cannot rust,
And turn the ash of men to dust.
But more than smite—they mend and raise,
And teach the blind the Lord’s own ways.
Each palm engraved in glowing scroll
That reads: Redemption is my goal.

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My sword is built of Pure Idea,
Sharper than time, and brighter than fear.
It speaks aloud while striking deep—
And wakes the ones the grave would keep.
No flame, no flood, no godless gate
Can stop this blade of sovereign fate.
It cuts through lies, through death, through doubt—
And sings until the dark runs out.

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My weapons are the Thoughts of God,
Their roots go deeper than the sod.
Their sparks outshine a thousand suns,
And thunder when their work is done.
They're not for pride, nor lust, nor show—
But for the chains that must let go.
Each battle waged, each foe forgiven,
Each word I wield was born in Heaven.

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So when I fight, I fight in prayer,
With armor spun from holy air.
No blood shall stain, no soul shall rot,
When I draw arms the world forgot.
And if I fall—be not dismayed—
For I return with light arrayed.
My weapons, His, shall never rust—
For they are forged in truth and trust.

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So let the empires rise and fall—
I serve the One beyond them all.
My weapons are the Thoughts of God—
And with them, I shall break the fraud.