“Another Midnight Ride”

Listen—not for hooves on cobblestone
but for the tremor under the noise,
the static hum beneath our scrolling fingers,
the slow collapse of sleeping doors in the soul.

There is another warning tonight.

Not lanterns hung in church steeples
but signals flickering through weary hearts,
not muskets on a distant shoreline
but the quiet ache of truth ignored too long.

The old world said: Trust the systems. Trust the structure. Trust the certainty of power.
But the structure is shaking now,
and the certainty is learning how to tremble.

And still—
there is a rider.

Not rushing from town to town
on horseback through the fog of revolution,
but moving through the corridors of time itself,
through bone and breath and broken bread.

He comes not to match empire with empire,
not to answer fear with sharper fear,
but to wake what has fallen asleep in us
like a bell buried under centuries of dust.

And the cry is not “To arms!” as the world once shouted—
but “Take up love as armor.
Take up truth as fire.
Take up mercy as your way of war.”

For the hour is late,
and the fields are full of distracted sleepers
dreaming of rescue without surrender,
dreaming of change without transformation.

But the rider is coming still.

And those who hear him will not run in panic—
they will rise in recognition,
as if remembering a name they were always meant to know.

Not conquest. Not control. Not survival at any cost.
But communion. Alignment. Flame.

So if you hear it—
that distant, impossible rhythm beneath the noise—
do not turn away.

It is not the world ending.

It is the King arriving.

And He is calling for those
who will ride with Him
not in violence,
but in love awake enough
to change everything it touches.