![PicsArt_05-27-09.17.26.jpg](https://ipfs.busy.org/ipfs/Qmb3iggEHKQnpeNWT2pVuynFKU7FTWRBAzCJhnPSRVtSZk)

I live in the mouth of wolves
Where the moon and star are wolves
But pretending to be doves
What dove will pocket a sword?
Their swords are used to slay the cross.
Is such a wolf a dove? Say the truth.

This may be the last bleed of my pen
My voice may soon be silenced
And my days expire as a martyr...
Some of my siblings were slain
by those hungry wolves in "dove skin".
I bear no grudge, but ask God to forgive them.

Whether I'm loved or hated I care not.
Whether I'm blessed or cursed I care not.
Whether I'm rich or poor I care not.
Whether I'm famed or deformed I care not.
Whether I live long or die young I care not.

All I see is a whirlwind of chariot
Coming down, down to my house
To take me up, up to my abode
Soon I'll leave my house of clay
That is fenced by bars of bone
To go to my pearly home above.
So I leave you this note of comfort
Do not mourn when I am no more.

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