Transfiguration

Six days after “take up your cross” —
Pete still tryna skip the dyin' part…
so watch the man climb a mountain
and lose his whole vocabulary.

Up the mount, six days countin' from the cross-talk,
three of 'em climbin' — Pete and the brothers, no soft walk.
Then the Man metamorphoō right there in they sight,
face bright as the sun, clothes flashin' white-white —
not bleach-white, light-white, no fuller on the earth
could touch the kinda clean that was leakin' through His shirt.
Then two giants of the canon step up on the stage:
Moses holdin' the Law, Elijah holdin' the page,
and they ain't talkin' weather — peep the topic they choose:
His exodus in Jerusalem — the Cross, then out tha tomb.

Pete's foot in his mouth 'cause he saw the Lord on the mount,
glory crackin' like thunder and he can't even count —
“three tents!” — nah, the Father cut him off, said it proud:
“This is My beloved Son — listen to HIM” — from the cloud.
(say it again)
Pete's foot in his mouth 'cause he saw the Lord on the mount —
when the King ain't sayin' nothin', boy, that ain't your route;
when the glory got you shook and you don't know how to pray,
zip it — lift your eyes — and let the Father have His say.

Now Pete (bless him) got the spirit but the mouth on a hinge:
“Lord, it's good to be here!” — then he oversteps the fringe —
“lemme throw up three booths, three skēnas on the ridge,
one for You, one for Moses, one for 'Lijah — I'll pitch!”
Mark say the man didn't even know what he said,
'cause the terror had him talkin' just to talk through the dread.
But peep the little heresy hidin' in the plan:
three matchin' tents put the servants on par with the Lamb.
You wanna freeze the glory, throw a roof on the flame,
set up camp on the summit — but that ain't why He came.
And the tent you tryna build? Cousin, miss me with the canvas —
the Word already eskēnōsen: pitched flesh as His tabernacle.

So the cloud roll in and it swallow up the scene,
and the Voice cut through everything that Peter tried to mean:
“Not three — One. Not a booth — a throne.
This is My Son. Now hush. And listen to HIM alone.”
They dropped on they faces, He touched 'em: “rise, don't fear,”
they looked up — Moses gone, Elijah disappeared.
Iēsoun monon: Jesus only, nobody beside.
Law and Prophets took a bow and they stepped to the side.

Down-down, off the mount, no tent and no plaque, 'cause the
glory was a preview, not a place you unpack. He said,
“tell it to nobody till the Son come back,
risen from the dead” — now watch the timeline crack:
the shine on the summit was a leak from the tomb,
a flash-forward flicker of the resurrection bloom,
the face that lit the mountain gonna be marred in the gloom,
the white no fuller could bleach gonna be stripped in the room —
so the road to the radiance run straight through the pain,
you don't tent on the high, you go low for the gain;
he wanted Tabor frozen, but the path led to the skull —
glory ain't a campsite, it's a Cross, then the pull.

Years down the line, old Pete put the pen to the page:
“we ain't follow no myth, no cleverly-spun stage —
we was eyewitness, saw the Majesty, heard the Voice come loud,
we was with Him… on the holy mountain… in the cloud.”
The man who couldn't shut it on the day of the light
became the witness who could stand up and say it right.
Foot fell outta his mouth — and the mouth told it true:
“This is the Son. I heard it. And I'm tellin' it to you.”