Dale Lloyd

Listen to the nations roar,their rulers shout and strain—
the air is thick with threat and boast,
with drums of fear and gain.

Above the reach of clashing cries,
beyond the frantic din,
there rests a rule in perfect peace,
unmoved by what has been.

A King above all other kings,
a Lord whom none unseat—
He does not shout to prove His strength;
the heavens keep their peace.

Below, the children in the sand
arrange their games of war,
crowning dust with borrowed names,
drawing lines upon the shore.

They posture loud and rage with pride,
unseeing, unaware—
an uplifted sword already stands,
suspended in the air.

That sword—the Word—is in His mouth.
No blade is raised or swung.
One quiet word, and every knee
will bend to what is done.

No argument. No final stand.
No choosing left at last.
All Pharaohs lay their titles down;
their moment slips into the past.

So do not lose your heart amid
the noise, the clash, the spin.
The end is held. The rule is sure.
From Him, through Him, to Him
are all things.