Imprisonment had been something Yirmey had come to know well like a close friend and he knew that war was hotly on the horizon. Even the people started to believe that the danger he predicted was now nearby and in hot pursuit. The pursuers would be like a swarm of bees that constantly chased them. The growing hum of the swarm that encamped around them was gaining strength and would ultimately release their sting. Thoughts of war swirled around in Yirmey's mind and at night, when he lay down, he tried to sleep but he could not. It was long into the night, on most nights of late, that he would eventually drift off and his body would shut down for some hours. He needed the rest and his nerves would grab hold of the opportunity to release their tension and unwind like a clock. It was here, in this moment of peace, that his mind would stop. The blood would flow freely through his veins and it was as if no danger existed. There would be no alarm and no need for high-alert during these hours.
Nobody wished for war and nobody wanted war. It was a war that he had seen long before its time emerged. He did long to prevent this war from overtaking the people that he loved but he soon discovered that no matter how much he loved, he could not necessarily protect the people for whom he had this passionate love.
Yes, Yirmey thought to himself about how it all began. Where the love began and where it would be defeated. It was here, in his homeland, and at his mother's breast that he had first heard the sound of it. A love so rare, so real and so strong. It was a pure love that his parents taught him and installed deep within him from a young age. From birth, he heard the songs she sang over him... songs of deliverance, songs of hope and songs about his people. His parents had a love for the land and for the men and women that no-one could impersonate or perform. It was here he learnt about his identity and a zeal for the Judahites which was enlarged when The Voice took on from there.
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