A lone seeker kneels in earthly silence, sending a fragile prayer upward like a silver thread. It pierces the heavens, passes blazing galaxies, and enters the radiant throne room—a sea of glass bathed in living light. There the Triune God reigns: the Father enthroned in sapphire and storm-light, the Son with merciful, galaxy-wounds, and the Spirit as a dove of white-hot wind. Surrounded by elders, crowned in surrender, and four living creatures thundering “Holy,” every prayer is treasured—gathered as incense in golden vials, always welcome, never forgotten. The prayer, now a shaft of light, is caught, transformed, and returned as an unstoppable river of grace. It floods the seeker’s hidden room, shattering gloom with splendor and crowning the soul that God fully sees and redeems.

The seeker kneels in shadowed hush,
yet the prayer ascends alone—
a silver filament spun from earth,
threading the vault of indigo stone.

It breaches the firmament’s seam,
where galaxies burn like censers swung,
and enters the blaze of the throne room—
a sea of glass fused with living sun.

There, the Triune Flame abides:
the Father on sapphire, veiled in storm-light,
His countenance older than the first word,
yet kind as the hush before dawn.

The Son at His right, scarred palms open,
the Lamb once slain, now radiant King;
His wounds are galaxies, still bleeding mercy,
each drop a world redeemed by singing.

The Spirit, a dove of white-hot wind,
broods over the waters of endless praise;
seven torches blaze before the throne,
seven eyes that search the secret ways.

Elders in linen, crowns cast down,
form a ring of surrendered gold;
four living creatures—lion, ox, man, eagle—
roar “Holy” in thunder no silence can hold.

Each prayer is precious, always welcome—
a vial of incense the angels keep,
its fragrance rising, never forgotten,
before the throne where no plea shall sleep.

The prayer, now a shaft of pure light,
pierces the heart of the Triune glow;
it is caught, transfigured, returned—
a river of grace no barrier can hold.

It floods the seeker’s hidden room,
though miles and veils lie in between;
a tide of splendor breaks the doom,
and glory crowns the soul He redeems.