Yah's chariots of fire pound out the rhythm,
as saints tread scorpions and slaughter serpents,
the sword is drawn, behold! the blood-red spectrum
lay waste the noxious creatures, silence repents.
The trumpet sounds, pray set apart the watchers,
these Words in plain view place upon the tables
so all that read can run! don't heed the scoffers,
the Word that speaks consumes fallacious fables.
Beware! the soul men follow is unrighteous,
he guzzles wine and seeks to fill the coffers
with grand desire as hell devoid of conscience.
The stone cries from the wall, the rafter answers,
"A woe to all that share sour grapes with neighbors
and build their house on blood by wicked labors!"
Sound the Trumpet
© Copyright: Мэтти Дубоис, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111022300881
Свидетельство о публикации №111022300881
Рецензии