“And Still They Would Not Turn”A Prophetess Speaks

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“And Still They Would Not Turn”
A Prophetess Speaks


I saw the heavens bowed in flame,
And angels wept—they weep the same.
They hold no harps when souls are lost,
They sing no song above the cost.


The seraphs cried with wings ash-grey,
Each tear a fire, each sigh a fray—
“O Holy, Holy, Lord Most High,
Why must they always choose to die?”
(Isaiah 6:2–3; Luke 15:7)


The throne of light shook with the sound
Of mourning not from earth—but Crowned.
For Christ, the Lamb, whose wounds still gleam,
Now weeps for those who spurn the stream.


“I bled,” He says, “but they won’t see.
I call, but none return to Me.
I knock—but hearts are loud with pride.
I wait—and still, I’m kept outside.”
(Revelation 3:20; Luke 13:34)

O earth, your pride is robed in rot,
You dance in flames and call it thought.
You curse His name on every tongue,
You break the law He wrote in stone.
(Exodus 20; Romans 1:21–32)


You kill your children, mock the womb,
You laugh while marching toward the tomb.
You crown your idols made of screen,
And crucify the Nazarene.


Your prophets cry in alley dust,
But still you do not hear or trust.
You turn your back to ancient flame,
And build your Babels once again.
(Jeremiah 7:25–27; Genesis 11:4)

But I—a daughter clothed in ash,
A prophetess with tongue like brass—
I’ve seen the scroll, I’ve read the fire,
I’ve heard the sound of angels’ lyre.


They play no songs but mournful chords,
For Heaven groans with silent swords.
“Woe, woe,” they cry, “the time is near,
And still they will not see or fear.”
(Ezekiel 33:11; Revelation 8:13)

Holiness burns with gentle hands,
But flesh is dust and never stands.
We trade the sacred for the swift,
We leave the Giver, chase the gift.


Yet He who hung on blood-soaked wood
Still pleads in mercy, speaks for good.
“Return,” He says, “while time remains.
For soon the sky shall break its chains.”
(Isaiah 55:6; Hebrews 10:31)

I speak not just in rhyme and verse,
But with the weight of Eden’s curse.
This world will fall—this age will end—
And Christ shall not descend… to mend.


He comes to reign, to judge, to sift—
To shake the proud, to raise the ripped.
He calls to you, O earthen bride:
“Be washed, be clean, come now, abide.”

And still—they will not turn.


But I—
I will not still.
I will cry louder
Until He comes.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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“Where Shall I Dwell?”

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“Where Shall I Dwell?”


I came once down in fire and cloud,
Where incense rose and heads were bowed.
In curtains veiled, behind the veil,
Where flesh dare not, nor pride prevail.


My voice was thunder, still and pure,
And only one could stand secure.
The high priest entered once a year—
But not without both blood and fear.
(Hebrews 9:7, KJV)


“Take off thy shoes,” I said before,
“For where I stand is holy floor.”
(Exodus 3:5, KJV)
From burning bush to golden ark,
I drew near where the world was dark.


I gave them patterns, cubits clean—
Each board, each clasp, divinely seen.
The walls I measured, gold I named,
The altar burned where sin was shamed.
(Exodus 25–28; Ezekiel 40–43)


I dwelt where cherub wings would meet,
Above the law, beneath the seat.
But none could touch My glory’s flame,
Unless they bore My covenant name.


If priest would enter clothed in pride,
Or hide a stain they dared not chide,
They’d fall like ash before the ark—
The holy dies when hearts grow dark.
(Leviticus 10:1–2; Exodus 28:35)


Yet now…
Now My temple is no more.
The veil was torn, the ark was stored.
The walls are gone, the fire is fled,
And still I call, but hearts are dead.


“Know ye not,” I say with grief,
“That ye are Mine?” Yet bring no chief.
No sacrifice, no inward light—
They boast My name, but shun My might.
(1 Corinthians 3:16–17, KJV)
(2 Corinthians 6:16)
(Romans 12:1)


“You are My temple, flesh and bone,
Yet I find each man walks alone.
They love their idols, screens, and gold—
Their lips are near, their hearts are cold.”
(Isaiah 29:13)


“I cannot dwell where sin is crowned,
Where pride is king and I am bound.
I long to come, but none prepare—
The throne is gone, the heart is bare.”


I walked once in the courts of stone,
But now I seek a heart My own.
Not one of bloodline, fame, or race,
But those who make My Word their place.


O child, if you would see My face,
Then cleanse your temple, make it grace.
The world has cast My Law aside—
But you, be holy, sanctified.


Let no strange fire burn in you—
No lie, no hate, no counterfeit true.
Come humbly through the torn veil’s thread,
Where My Son rose, though once He bled.


“I wait,” says God, “outside the gate,
But man no longer reveres the weight.
My throne is heaven, My footstool clay—
But where is the house you build today?”
(Isaiah 66:1–2, KJV)


So I will pass until they cry,
Until the watchmen break and sigh.
But to the broken and contrite—
I’ll come again, in fire and light.
(Psalm 51:17)

Written by Marguerite Grace

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Tablets in the Dust

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Tablets in the Dust


They came not carved by human hand,
But thundered down with flame and sand.
Ten words, ten lines from Sinai’s peak,
To teach the strong, defend the weak.


“Thou shalt not kill,” the heavens cried—
And war stepped back, and wrath complied.
“Thou shalt not steal,” and walls were built
To hold back greed and cleanse the guilt.


Honor thy father, rest thy soul,
Keep holy day and self-control.
Do not commit the lover’s lie,
Do not bear witness, do not spy.


Do not bow down to crafted gold,
And love the Lord with heart and soul.


These were the stones that shaped the land—
A moral law by God’s own hand.
And for a time, the nations stood,
Not perfect, but they called it good.

But now, the tablets lie in dust,
Their letters cracked by hate and rust.
They’re cast like coins into the street,
Trampled beneath unholy feet.


“Their silver and gold shall not be able to deliver them… they shall cast their silver in the streets.”
(Ezekiel 7:19, KJV)


A world unbound, unmoored, untrue—
Where black is white and right is skewed.
Where idols rise in mirrored glass,
And covenants like vapor pass.


They laugh at honor, kill for clout,
They call it truth, they curse and shout.
They steal in boardrooms, slay online,
And love the lie that looks divine.


A world without the sacred Word—
Where silence reigns and none are heard.
Where children mock, and judges lie,
And hearts grow cold beneath the sky.

But still they stand, though men deny—
Those laws of fire shall not die.
They burn beneath the conscience deep,
They wait while fools and tyrants sleep.


For soon the tablets shall arise,
Carried by fire from heaven’s skies.
And every soul shall see and know
That God gave law so grace could flow.


To cast them down is death made near—
To hold them close is hope sincere.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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The Flower Moon

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The Flower Moon


O silver bloom in midnight sky,
You rise where hush and heavens lie.
A bridal lamp on petals strewn,
The soft unfurling Flower Moon.


You bloom above the sleeping trees,
And stir the tides with silent pleas.
The lilies tilt, the roses sway,
You paint the world in ghostly day.


Not cold like snow, nor harsh like flame,
You whisper softly Heaven’s name.
A sign, a clock, a song begun—
You dance upon the dark undone.


The fields remember what was sown,
The winds recall what seeds were blown.
You bid the buried root arise,
And stretch its arms toward starlit skies.


The watchers wake, the foxes roam,
The meadow dreams of Eden’s home.
The waters still, the shadows lean,
Beneath your gaze so wide and clean.


O Flower Moon, with sacred face,
You speak of cycles, light, and grace.
You bloom not just in sky above,
But in the soul that waits with love.


For like the fig tree’s tender limb,
You mark the time when days grow dim—
And hearts that watch shall not despair,
For signs are written everywhere.


Shine on, O moon, until the day
The Morning Star sweeps night away.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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The Hour Before the Trumpet

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The Hour Before the Trumpet


The fig tree bloomed in barren land,
A leaf reborn by Sovereign hand.
The winds of prophecy stirred the sand—
And watchers woke across the span.


A nation born in one day’s cry,
As prophets saw in ages nigh.
Jerusalem stirred, the altar bare,
A temple waits in whispered prayer.


The signs declared in fire and flood—
The groaning earth, the rising blood.
Knowledge rose like smoke in skies,
Men raced the winds, the stars, the lies.
(Daniel 12:4; Matthew 24:6–7)


The lovers of self fill every street,
The lawless rise, the flames repeat.
The Gospel flies on wings of flame—
And still they mock the Savior’s name.
(Matthew 24:12–14; 2 Peter 3:3)


The Church sleeps light in worldly beds,
But those with oil lift holy heads.
They trim their lamps, they watch the cloud,
They hear the trumpet soft and loud.
(Matthew 25:1–10)


O Bride, awake! The hour breaks—
The Groom is near, the shadow shakes!
The Rapture waits with thunder’s breath—
To spare the Bride the wrath of death.
(1 Thessalonians 4:16–17; Revelation 3:10)


The man of sin will then arise,
With hell beneath his cloaked disguise.
At midpoint he shall show his face,
In God’s own temple, claim His place.
(2 Thessalonians 2:3–4; Daniel 9:27)


The world shall worship lies and war,
And open wide the dragon’s door.
The Watchers weep from pits of flame—
Their children rise to wear their name.
(Revelation 13; Genesis 6:2–4; 1 Enoch)


But Two shall stand in sackcloth black,
And speak of truth while fire cracks.
The beast shall rage, the earth shall quake—
Then God shall call and graves shall break.
(Revelation 11:3–12)


Seven years of wrath unfold,
As plagues and bowls of wrath are told.
But in the sky a white horse rides—
And heaven’s door swings open wide.
(Revelation 6–19)


The King returns with sword and flame,
To crush the beast, to cleanse the shame.
He’ll plant His throne in Zion’s dust,
And judge the proud, exalt the just.
(Zechariah 14; Revelation 19:11–20)


O Israel, your day draws near—
The scales shall fall, the truth appear.
You’ll look on Him you pierced and grieve,
Then rise and rule and still believe.
(Zechariah 12:10; Romans 11:26)


But now, dear soul, the clock is thin,
The trumpet waits to draw us in.
The door is open—but not for long,
The Bridegroom calls—make ready, song.


Repent. Believe. The veil was torn.
Be born again, not merely born.
The Groom will not delay the sky—
Behold, He comes! Redemption nigh!

Written by Marguerite Grace

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The Watchers: The Fall of the High Ones

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The Watchers: The Fall of the High Ones


They stood once on the mountain’s crown,
With eyes of fire and robes of down.
Two hundred strong in glory dressed,
By God ordained—but not to rest.


Their names were known among the stars:
Uriel, Kokabiel, and Sariel’s scars.
Azazel chief, with craft and flame,
Taught men the forge and weapons’ name.


“We will descend and take their wives,
And bring our seed to mortal lives.”
So swore they all with binding curse—
A vow that stained both sky and earth.


They came to earth in shadowed flight,
And walked with women in the night.
The daughters bore unnatural sons,
The giants fierce, the lawless ones.
(Genesis 6:2–4, KJV; 1 Enoch 6–7)


The Nephilim, with blood unblessed,
Brought war and famine, fear and pest.
They taught enchantments, roots, and runes,
And stained the sun and bent the moons.


Men called them gods. They ruled with dread.
The land was filled with tears and dead.
But Enoch rose with voice like flame,
To speak the truth, and call their name.


“Your judgment waits beyond the veil,
In chains of fire, in desert pale.”
“You shall not rise, your line shall die—
The flood shall cleanse the blood and sky.”
(1 Enoch 10:11–13; 15:4–10)


The Watchers wept, their faces bowed,
Their wings now heavy, dim, and cowed.
They begged the Lord to lift the ban,
But heaven shut the book of man.


Raphael bound them in the earth,
To wait the Judge of second birth.
To deepest pits their names were cast,
And still they dream of ages past.


Yet Enoch saw their fate ahead—
A blazing lake for angel dead.
A tree once dead, in Eden sealed,
Will bloom again when wrath is healed.
(1 Enoch 25–27)


So let none say that heaven sleeps,
For judgment watches, justice weeps.
And those who once with stars did dance
Now wait in chains for second chance.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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Noah: The Builder Beneath the Thunder

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Noah: The Builder Beneath the Thunder


When silence broke and warnings dimmed,
And sin flowed wide from brim to brim,
A man stood blameless in the land—
Noah, with hammer in his hand.


While others mocked, he did not sway,
But built salvation plank by plank.
For God had spoken, loud and low:
“The end of all flesh is come, you know.”
(Genesis 6:13, KJV)


The earth was filled with cruel deceit,
With violence sown in every street.
The Watchers’ sons had pierced the veil,
And made of hearts a hollow shell.


But Noah found in God’s own eyes
A favor none could criticize.


“Noah was a just man and perfect in his generations,
and Noah walked with God.” (Genesis 6:9, KJV)


He built the ark, a wooden tomb,
To ride the wrath, escape the doom.
Three levels tall, pitched black with tar,
A sanctuary ‘neath falling stars.


He preached of righteousness and grace,
But none would turn nor seek God’s face.
The door stood open seven days—
And then the sky set fire ablaze.
(Genesis 7:10–11, KJV)


The fountains of the deep were torn,
The heavens wept in storming mourn.
The ark did rise, the dead did sink—
A world erased in just one blink.


Inside, the beasts lay side by side,
The lion slept, the dove did glide.
Eight souls remained—the final thread—
All else was swallowed with the dead.


Yet Noah prayed, and God did hear,
And sent a wind to dry the tear.
The waters fled, the mount appeared,
The dove returned, the clouds were cleared.


He stepped out not on cursed land,
But on a world made by God’s hand.
A bow was set across the rain,
A vow of peace, though man may strain.
(Genesis 9:13, KJV)


And Noah lived three hundred more,
A prophet, priest, and humble core.
The vineyard bloomed, his house grew old,
His story carved in Scripture’s gold.


The ark may rest on mountain steep,
But Noah’s faith was wide and deep.
He braved the flood, obeyed the call—
And through one man, God spared us all.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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Methuselah: The Long Silence Before the Storm

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Methuselah: The Long Silence Before the Storm


In days when giants walked the land,
And Watchers fell by their own hand,
There stood a man of solemn grace—
Methuselah, the space of space.


His father walked with God and soared,
A prophet, priest, and heaven’s scribe.
But he remained—by choice, by will—
To count the days till wrath stood still.


A child of prophecy and flame,
Enoch named him with holy aim:
“When he is gone, it shall be sent.”
And heaven knew just what it meant.


He watched the sun rise cold and low,
As angels wept and shadows grow.
He heard the whispers of the deep,
The cries of those who could not sleep.


He saw the Nephilim arise,
With bodies strong and hollow eyes.
He knew the Watchers’ sin was steep,
And that the judgment would not sleep.


He kept the scroll, he held the line,
A living clock in God’s design.
Nine hundred years and sixty-nine—
Each breath a pause in wrath’s decline.


He taught his grandson to obey,
To build the ark, to light the way.
He warned the people, mourned their fall,
While wickedness consumed them all.


Yet mercy lingered at his door,
The flood held back a moment more.
The Lord would not unleash the tide,
Until the oldest man had died.


And when he passed, the sky grew gray—
The fountains split, the world gave way.
For just as Enoch said it would,
The judgment came like rushing flood.


But Methuselah—silent seer—
Had served his task for many years.
He held the gate, delayed the flame,
Till only Noah bore the name.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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Enoch: The Prophet Who Walked with God

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Enoch: The Prophet Who Walked with God


In days when earth was young and wide,
Enoch walked with God, side by side.
A man of faith, pure and upright,
He shunned the dark, embraced the light.


At sixty-five, Methuselah was born,
A son to carry on till dawn.
Three hundred years he journeyed on,
With God, until his days were gone.


But gone not dead, for he was taken,
To realms above, his soul awakened.
No grave would hold this man so blessed,
In heaven’s courts, he found his rest.


Through ten vast heavens he ascended,
By angels’ wings, his path extended.
In first, the stars and clouds reside,
In second, fallen ones abide.


The third revealed both Eden’s grace,
And hell’s tormenting, fiery place.
The fourth, the sun and moon’s domain,
With angels singing sweet refrain.


The fifth held giants, watchers chained,
Their sins upon the earth remained.
The sixth, the angels’ duties told,
Of seasons, rivers, young and old.


The seventh heaven, bright and grand,
Where seraphim and cherubs stand.
The eighth and ninth, the stars align,
Their courses set by God’s design.


The tenth, the highest, throne of light,
Where God resides in glory bright.
Here Enoch stood before the Lord,
Received his mission and reward.


Transformed into an angel’s guise,
With wisdom vast and shining eyes.
As Metatron, the scribe of heaven,
To him the secrets all were given.


He saw the watchers’ grievous fall,
Their union with the daughters all.
The Nephilim, their offspring dire,
Brought violence, sin, and unquenched fire.


He warned of floods to cleanse the land,
Of Noah’s ark and God’s command.
He penned the courses of the stars,
The calendar of sun and Mars.


He spoke of judgments yet to be,
Of righteous paths and destiny.
He taught his sons to seek the light,
To walk with God, to do what’s right.


Then back to heaven he was brought,
His earthly mission fully wrought.
No death he tasted, nor decay,
But lives with God, still to this day.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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The Scroll of Israel: A Lyrical Poem of Promise, Warning, and Hope

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The Scroll of Israel: A Lyrical Poem of Promise, Warning, and Hope
By Marguerite Grace



I. THE PROMISE


In the land where Abram stood by night,
God called with fire, not voice of fright.
“From Egypt’s stream to Euphrates grand,
To thee I give this sacred land.”
(Genesis 15:18, KJV)


Twelve tribes from Jacob’s line would rise—
Levi’s law and Judah’s prize.
Dan and Gad on hill and plain,
Benjamin in Saul’s domain.
(Genesis 17:8, Joshua 21:43, KJV)



II. THE LAND DIVIDED, LOVE FORGOT


But hearts grew cold, their worship strayed,
To idols dumb, the people prayed.
So east they went, by sword expelled,
The land they’d lost, the law they held.
(Leviticus 26:38, 43, KJV)


Yet even then, the prophets wrote,
Of fig trees ripe and hope remote—
Of one day soon when leaves would show,
That time had come for truth to grow.
(Matthew 24:32–34, KJV)



III. THE SIGNS TO COME


Now signs abound, the sky grows grim—
The lights go out, the saints grow dim.


“Knowledge shall increase,” it’s said,
And men will run as fears are fed.
(Daniel 12:4, KJV)


Wars will rise, and nations rage,
Famines shake the dying age.
(Matthew 24:6–7, KJV)


False prophets preach, their numbers grow,
Love turns cold, and sin does flow.
(Matthew 24:11–12, KJV)


The Gospel preached from shore to shore,
Then cometh end and time no more.
(Matthew 24:14, KJV)


Scoffers mock and truth they stain,
As in the days of Lot and rain.
(2 Peter 3:3, Matthew 24:37, Luke 17:28–30, KJV)


The moon turns red, the sun grows black,
And heaven’s host begins attack.
(Luke 21:25, Matthew 24:29, KJV)



IV. THE WAR OF ALL


To Megiddo’s plain, they march to fight,
Where swords meet fire and wrong meets right.
(Revelation 16:16, KJV)


Jerusalem, they seek to tear,
But Christ shall land and split the air.
(Zechariah 14:2–4, KJV)


Upon white horse He rides again,
And stops the rage of godless men.
(Revelation 19:11–15, KJV)


The beast is thrown, the false one too—
To fire’s end, both bid adieu.
(Revelation 19:20, KJV)



V. THE BURIED WORD


Yet in the hills and caves concealed,
Are Bibles set for truth revealed.
For tribulation’s seekers lost,
To find God’s Word at any cost.
(Psalm 119:11, KJV)



VI. THE WAY TO LIFE


But greater still than every sign,
Is Christ who paid your debt and mine.


“All have sinned,” the Scripture rings,
And death, it says, is what sin brings.
(Romans 3:23, 6:23, KJV)


But God showed love, and Christ did die,
To lift the curse, to draw us nigh.
(Romans 5:8, KJV)


Confess Him Lord, believe He lives,
And He’ll forgive, and He forgives.
(Romans 10:9, 13, KJV)



VII. THE CALL


So now, dear soul, the scroll is shown,
The hour near, the signs full grown.


The fig tree stirs, the sky grows red—
Come now to Christ, be raised from dead.


Choose the Savior, take the key,
Escape the wrath, and be set free.

Written by Marguerite Grace

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