The Signs Engraved In Time's Scrolls Poem by Linus Kithinji Njeru

Everything was writ and chronicled in times of old,
A generation that cast aside threats yet failed to behold,
The subtle signs that the Master's return draws near,
As we, in our folly, turn a blind eye in fear.

No clue of the stinging bird that man hath made,
A belief now bred, in which the soul is laid.
This bird, which subjugates the barren, parched land,
From times of prophecy, hath taken its stand.
It waged war 'gainst the Son, and His followers too,
A bloodshed begun by rebels whose vows they pursue.

These signs were engraved and recorded in scrolls,
The false oracles speak from their high, hollow thrones,
Not pursuing the Maker, but what He hath wrought,
The Maker shall loose immorality, as it was sought.

Women shall itch for ways that are not of the divine,
And men shall yearn for their brethren, in sin's design.
The literature speaks, in words clear and profound,
The airwaves polluted by technology's sound.

The message of the Maker, with great haste, shall be sought,
But in vain, the hard copies discarded, truths distraught.
In their stead, edited versions will reign on high,
Where falsehoods will dwell, as truth passes by.

Free technology shall bear the enemy's mark,
In obscene images, jokes, and vile remarks.
The enemy, with keen eyes, records all that we do,
As evidence 'gainst us, when judgment is due.

Their timetables pressed, with no time for the Lord,
The enemy laughs, his agents ever adored.
We set up our praises for Man and spirits of dead,
With idols and falsehoods, our worship misled.

We forget the command to worship God alone,
Not gods of our making, nor idols of stone.
Oh, how it pains us, though we strive to be right,
For we fall into sin, in the darkest of night.

Gluttony, slander, witchcraft, deceit,
Gossip and fornication—sins that repeat.
Adultery, idolatry, leaders in disguise,
In the house of worship, where truth dies.

The needy are shunned, their plight cast aside,
As we rush to secure wealth, in false pride.
No sacrifice to God, for the synagogues take,
The sweat of the poor, their riches they make.

We seek for God Himself, our offerings to bestow,
In the hope that His favor will forever flow.
These signs were engraved and recorded in scrolls,
The false convictions proclaimed from their lofty poles.