Every world has a season.

A rhythm. A rise and fall.

The soil breathes. The rain comes. The roots take hold  and from that rhythm, life begins. That’s the balance. That’s the truth.

Between light and dark.

Between warmth and storm.

Between creation and destruction.

But then you came.

Mister Sunshine.

The smile that never fades.

The light that never dims.

At first, they thought you were a blessing.

The people danced in your glow, believing the endless day meant peace.

But too much light isn’t mercy.

Too much light is ruin.

You don’t grow life.

You dry it out.

You bake the soil until it cracks.

You burn the roots before they can take hold.

You blind them with joy so they never notice they’re starving and when they start to wilt, you tell them to smile wider.

That’s your gospel, isn’t it?

“Be happy. Be bright. Don’t look down.”

But I look down, Sunshine.

I see the truth beneath your field of smiles, a wasteland.

The bones of everything that might’ve grown if you’d ever let it rain.

You’ve made a religion out of denial.

A kingdom built on heatstroke and laughter.

You call it paradise, but all I see is a prison made of light.

And maybe they love you for it.

Maybe they need you.

But I’ve come to show them the cost of your forever summer.

Because nothing holy thrives under constant sunshine.

Even Heaven needs clouds.

You don’t understand that, do you?

You can’t. You’ve been the center of your own world for too long.

You believe that if you keep shining, no one will ever see the cracks forming beneath you.

But I see them.

I see the trembling in your glow.

The sweat behind the smile.

The man burning alive inside his own light.

And I know what comes next.

When the sky finally turns.

When the first drop falls.

When the laughter dies and the people look up and realize…

It wasn’t warmth they were basking in.

It was fire.

That’s when I come in.

I am the rain, Sunshine.

The judgment you postponed.

The mercy you mistook for weakness.

I am what follows the drought.

You can’t blind me.

You can’t burn me.

And when your light finally fades, the people will look to the clouds and understand….

You weren’t salvation.

You were the disease.

Because even Eden was made to bloom with both light and rain.

You gave them light without limit and you cursed the land.

But I am the Lord’s Harbinger.

I bring balance.

I bring the flood.

And I bring the end of your drought.

Arcadia doesn’t need more sunshine.

It needs a storm.

And I am that storm…I am the fist of God, come to break the sky and wash the wicked from the earth.