Into Prophecy

                             Abhorrent abhorrence, capturing wit,
                             venom of the serpent, blinding of mind.
                             Cascade from the heavens, and now for man,
                             running into prophecy of your end.
                             Prophecy of the land and its people,
                             time's prisoner, endeavors to end the three.
                             In arrogance you gloat and kiss yourself,
                             kiss the goat and this, you miss, destiny.

                             Children of imprudence, evil's mirror
                             reflecting the face of eternal doom.
                             Give voice to the beast devouring men,
                             and wonders to his prophet holding court.
                             Severance sold for the funds of unity,
                             the burial shroud of eternal anguish.
                             The sentinel detached at the world's gate,
                             common sense trampled in evils stampede.

                             Tribulation wearing the cloak of peace,
                             hatred carrying the bouquet of love.
                             Death and death to minds poisoned by venom,
                             self-righteousness, eternity's abyss.
                             In the saint's hand, the bloody sword of truth,
                             love flowing from the fount of division,
                             and from difference the fight for light,
                             one government, the beast, evil's control.

                             Come into the land reaching for our hands,
                             you'll be touching then not, our minds are own.
                             From your throne in Babylon, sweat defeat,
                             the closing of some eyes opens more.
                             Streaming from basement, flowing out of caves,
                             delivered from the desert's hide-away.
                             On the cloud of angels, splitting mountains,
                             The Word, a millennium in your tomb.

                             Scoff at the crazy man with pen in hand,
                             a saber of light that writes over dark.
                             There are many to fill pages with right,
                             the right light on sheets outlives the man.
                             Seeds that will flourish in some left behind,
                             grow in those for the new millennium.
                             The clock starts in the New Jerusalem,
                             onto Eden and the true meaning of life.