The Wise One’s sturdy stride channels the power of a superior force.
He was ordained many decades ago to gather up the lost men and he humbly dedicated his life to pursuing that vocation.
The Creator’s smile shines on his sculpted head like a crown.
The Wise One does not rush to share his everyday thoughts in a crowd but finds his heavenly vigour with a podium and a mic in hand.
There, his voice summons the ears of Earth’s listeners.
His faith is a shield and his mind, a sword.
His open palm commands that which cannot be seen but only felt.
His golden fingers tremble and as he utters foreign tongues, paths become clearer and castles crumble down.
The Wise One’s notebook is embezzled with poetry written by the Creator.
He is indeed a man of few words, but within his priestly scribbles of yellow and red, the verses glimmer like a rainbow across the skies.
They are love letters and a reminder that we are all writers with a story, eager to speak to those who will listen.