When the King Returns

It’s not the nicest place to be–

A non-loyalist when the king returns

To assume his regal duties on his throne.

It’s better to believe his promise to us all,

Though now we see him not.

Those few who do will reap a great reward

Although they did not seek fame for themselves.

With pure heart fervent sought they to serve their king

And help him usher in a thousand years

Of peace and joy in kingdom bliss.

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Flies Floating in the Flask–A Poem

I’ve never met a stranger.

I’ve never lost a friend.

I’ve always tried to endear myself

To the hearts and minds of men.

I’ve used the smile to penetrate

The lonely shell of fear.

And one kind word has opened up

The tragic deafened ear.

To comfort, yes, to comfort all–

That is my cry; that is my call.

But something still keeps nagging me

Like flies that float within the flask.

A fleeting question on the wind

Stops long enough to ask,

Physician, why not heal yourself?

What’s all these words you say?

Go home and weep yourself to sleep.

Your wife left you today.

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

Crying in the Wilderness*

Rich bankers’ international conspiracy

Wants to imprison the minds of your family

To give themselves to the mark of the beast.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

That’s why we’re crying in the wilderness–

The voice of one crying ’cause the world is in a mess.

People, awake out of sleep.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

The Rockefellers, Rothschilds, and those Esau dukes

All claim to be God’s people, but they’re being used

By Satan to subvert the minds of all who’ll choose

To go their way into one world government.

That’s why we’re crying in the wilderness–

The voice of one crying ’cause the world is in a mess.

People, awake out of sleep.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

Crying, crying, you know we’re crying, we’re crying.

People, awake out of sleep.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

The devil’s last attempt now is to dethrone God,

And it’s taking place through rich men even while you nod,

And sleep and say, “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

That’s why we’re crying in the wilderness–

The voice of one crying ’cause the world is in a mess.

People, awake out of sleep.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

Well, God has Gideon’s army that He’s coming through.

So join the rank and file ’cause He’s calling you

To be just like the Captain Jesus and to do

The same works as our soon coming King.

That’s why we’re crying in the wilderness,

The voice of one crying ’cause the world is in a mess.

People, awake out of sleep.

Prepare your heart for the coming of the LORD.

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

*{Lyrics to a song I wrote in 1976.  Little did I realize that David Rockefeller would make this bold, confirming statement 15 years after I wrote the song}

“This present window of opportunity, during which a truly peaceful and interdependent world order might be built, will not be open for too long – We are on the verge of a global transformation. All we need is the right major crisis and the nations will accept the New World Order.”

Quote by:	David Rockefeller (1915- ) Internationalist billionaire, CFR kingpin, founder of the Trilateralist Commission, World Order Godfather
Source:	Sept. 23, 1994

Quote from David Rockefeller

“We are grateful to the Washington Post, The New York Times, Time Magazine and other great publications whose directors have attended our meetings and respected their promises of discretion for almost forty years.” “It would have been impossible for us to develop our plan for the world if we had been subjected to the lights of publicity during those years. But, the world is now more sophisticated and prepared to march towards a world government. The supranational sovereignty of an intellectual elite and world bankers is surely preferable to the national auto-determination practiced in past centuries.”

Quote by:	David Rockefeller (1915- ) Internationalist billionaire, CFR kingpin, founder of the Trilateralist Commission, World Order Godfather
Date:	June 1991 Baden, Germany
Source:	Bilderberger Meeting, Baden, Germany

It’s Just Your Great Love That Helps Us–A Poem/Prayer

It is just Your great love that helps us–

That reaches down through the ether,

Invisibly touching our hidden center of being,

That calmly holds us from the precarious perches

That we force ourselves onto.

Your love holds us close–

Now safe from falling,

Now safe from sliding back

Into the mire of mud-soaked sin.

You, who hold the key to our safety,

Have now transported us

On Your very own wings,

On which we now ride

Into the pastures of heaven.

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

“I Will Remember Him That Way”–An Elegy for My Mentor

I thought of my spiritual mentor who passed away some nine years ago now.  Without him and his love and patience, I would not have come out of the depraved selfish existence I led in my old life.  I wrote this elegy upon hearing of his death.  I want to share it with you.

I Will Remember Him That Way

I will remember him, but not for his last days on earth.

I will recall three decades ago, when the world was mad

          and senseless and cruel,

When a young man and woman so in need of love

          and patience

And so full of fear and loss and alienation, with cynicism

          in full rotten bloom—

I’ll remember him that day, that warm April East Texas

          spring day

When the joy emanating from his countenance hit me right

          in the chest

As I strutted in with a smirk that said,

Okay, show me what you got,

Because I’ve just about given up the search for truth,

          although I talk about it all the time,

And I know that my old self is my nemesis, my master, my   

          ruin,

And I can’t get rid of it by myself, because my self is my

          very problem,

And I know that it has to die, and I’ve looked three years in

          books from India,

And books from China, and books from Persia,

And none of the sages of the East could tell me how to put

          my self to death,                                                           

 

And live to tell about it,

And I knew that I would waste my time

In looking to the christian buildings which cannot hold

          moms and dads together in love—

So as a last futile foray for the truth before I give up

And sink into the numbness of nothingness,

I was thinking, Okay, show me what you got.

 

And he did, as I remember the joy and the love that swept

          down on me,

As he spoke of a certain writer named Paul who spoke of

          an old man Adam

Who was now put to death with the Lamb in a Roman 6

          finality

And who could be raised to walk in a newness of life.

 

“You mean that my old self, my old ego, can die?” 

I asked out loud that April morning in the cedar cabin in the

          East Texas woods.

“That’s exactly what Paul is saying.”

 

 

And so I had finally found my sign that I had searched for.

I’ll remember him that way,

As the joyous messenger of my joy in God.

 

I’ll remember how he let me keep sleeping till noon the first  

          time we spent the night,

Under his breakfast table in the tarpaper shack,

For I was bidden to come and rest, and he let me rest.

I’ll recall the joy and deliverance from tobacco, drugs, alcohol,  

          and cursing.

I’ll remember him that way.

 

I’ll remember the countless times I robbed him of his rest,

And he would smile,

Knowing I was special in the hands of God.

I’ll remember him that way.

 

I’ll remember a man who believed in me like no one had done

          before.

I’ll remember the days of Pepsi and popcorn,

And winter mornings, wood burning stove, kettle on top,

Cool mornings full of hot tea and scriptures,

When riches meant nothing and material possessions held no

          power over us,

As we sat laughing into the gentle breezy piney woods evenings,

Secure at last that, yes, there is a God with a plan and purpose,

And all was as it should be here on earth at this moment.

I’ll remember him that way.

I’ll remember Tom as the mentor of my youth,

Who awakened me to greater things than my old self,

Who showed me how to speak to tens of thousands

         about the Kingdom.

I’ll remember him as the one who helped me

         along the road to God,

Who patiently in those early days,

         taught me all the Truth he knew.

And so I ask, What more can any one man do?

I’ll remember him that way.

 

I’ll not let those early days be blotted out of my memory

By judging him on his last days on earth—

No matter how much it hurt—

I’ll leave all judgements of him to God and to bitter little hearts

Who can’t remember him in the early days.

 

But I’ll remember him that way.

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

 

 

Apples of Gold–Missing the Wife of My Youth

I am like an ancient apple tree

That knows innately April is nigh.

The sap still wants to rise,

But no white blossoms smile at passersby,

Enticing them to breathe our joy

And taste the promise of our love.

The sun still frowns, begrudging a ray or two.

So come back soon and with you bring the latter rain,

That the  storehouse of every heart

May overflow with  apples of gold.

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

You Just Can’t Fight the Love*–My Testimony in Song

I once was a lost and bitter young man

Till Christ showed me He’s the way.

The way for a man to be like God is

Doing what He did.

And what did He do but give up His life

That other people might live.

And compassion like that is from above,

And I couldn’t fight the love.

So I gave up my life, and He gave me His.

Now I don’t sin anymore,

For “he that is dead is freed from sin.”

There’s only love now within.

And God and His love obeys all His laws

Inside me, loving neighbor as self.

And action like this is from above,

And you just can’t fight the love.

Until that day you hear the Master say,

“I want to make you my son.”

And, oh, that light from up above,

And you just can’t fight the–

You’d better not fight the–

You just can’t fight the love.     Kenneth Wayne Hancock

 

* {I wrote this song back in 1973.  Someday I’ll record it on You Tube and share it.}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let No Errant Bullet Find My Son–A Poem and a Prayer

Let no errant bullet find my son.

Let no screaming shrapnel shred his limbs

And mar a life that’s just begun.

Nor let the carboned dead curled in the sand

Begin to stir his mind into a bitter brew

Of fear, disgust, contempt for humankind.

Let his desert march through death’s shadow

Reveal to him not just what man to man can do,

But let him see the need for him to trust in You.

 

 

Kenneth Wayne Hancock

For his son, Joby,

A sargeant in Iraq,

3rd Infantry Division,

March 21, 2003

 

 

These words rushed into and out of a heart feeling vacant, lonely, and helpless that day.  War has a way of doing that to a man.  It puts things into a new perspective, far away from the bravado of foolish ego.  Being close to death does that to you–makes you come down off your high horse.  That this is good for the soul is one of life’s mysteriously sad ironies.  I felt this first hand in Vietnam and was feeling it again vicariously with my son that morning.

 

And so my only recourse was to call upon the Giver of life to become the Sustainer of life, the life of my son.  And He did answer this prayer.  KWH