Prophecy In Poetry

The Scribe of God’s Passionate Phase, & Prophecy from 2014

Pentacles of Time

The pentacles of time shall melt as sugar in the light of the sun.

These towers are set in the IS to regulate life and influence the fate of our soul.

When the pentacles of time are gone the Earth will stand still

The sun and planets will not rotate for time, nothing will grow

The sun will no longer be the giver of life

The waters of humanity will no longer confuse our choices

The distraction called time will be gone

There will be a rush toward God

The screams of repentance

The anger toward God and final separation will be at hand

The final Woe

The body shall die quickly, eternity shall settle in

The I AM The IS will be revealed to the mortal man in those final last days

The choice will easy

Our choice will be clear

It is better for a man to ponder death than to sit in the chair of merriment and bliss,

But to experience both is truly a blessing.

Seek and ye shall find.


Creamy Oily lust filled dreams

sexy sapphires shiny streams

travel afar to a place of pleasure

fulfill your fantasies desire forever

a man of stature his figure appears

his beauty reflects in waters crystal mirrors

fiery eyes black like pitch

curves and waves of skin so rich

transparent he glows yet tan an dfirm

scared yet you touch his face to learn

the feelings he holds for only you

he’s your sensual angel he’ll carry you through

your desire so strong you yearn and flow

with nature’s sweet nectar and sensual glow

when he moves to hold you, arms open wide

supernaturally he envelopes you you one inside

his body so warm your belonging has come

your heart melts inside you know you are one

looking around at the beauty of caves

and flowers oceans and sexual waves

your feminine passions are satisfied at last

this supernatural angel throws mere men to the past

So I see my God can meet all my needs

He knows my heart I fall to my knees and


“LOSING A SOUL” ╪ 2013
Written by Dorothy Ruth Stirrum

As I went through my grandmother’s attic, I found a strange old journal labeled, “The Journal of Forgetting”. Its pages were yellow and empty. It drew me in with curious arousal. In my silent pain, I spun the web of forgetting.

I began to write upon the age old paper as it magically absorbed my life’s emotionally debilitating burdens. The children I have born with my soul and have lost somehow. My grief and mourning seep into the lines of the uncanny ink as I write. I recall the lovers found in bliss by my minds eyes’ sensual allure, of whom I have thrown away and displaced for causes of betrayal and the abrupt stroke of a strong swift slap. Memory soaks into the magic, accepting pages.

As my essence of pain fades, I studiously continue to inscribe my lost childhood dreams. A tear drops on the thick, yellowed paper of old it smolders and disappears. I recant the love I so innocently gave to those I perceived as lovingly responsible. I remember that I was only a waif to them as they strongly crushed my world with selfish blows of abuse. The page is full. I watch as the ancient journal, without my hand, turns itself to the next page. It is as if crystal lights are dancing on the book as it draws light from faded sun. Is there more? Must I forget all my painful memories to be at peace? I guard my pen.

Curiously and cautiously, I turned to the back of the book. In small print of blood, the words appeared “Stealing a Soul: Volume 27″. I gasped! Subtly and seductively, this magic book of relief would supernaturally steal my God breathed life. Painful memories, though some may be, they made me a grand member of humanity. The tragedies made me who I am today by the choices I made in spite of yesterday. I realized that if dealt with by expression and acceptance, these burdens forge in me the very character that makes men faithful, understanding and wise.

I left the book behind for those who may choose not to experience life and truth in its full color spectrum. Or perhaps this book of illusion will lure another in to awaken to life! For by accepting what I wrote in that journal, I had accepted myself.


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