dreams of nostrodaumus

testification to a lord from below, crying out up through the
snow, watching the delicate flakes of power fall through the
grey.
Hitting my eyes and melting on the fire behind the eyes of the
beholder.
Up above a raging fire that calms me, so I can carry on.
Mind a wrecking ball, flying through a brick wall at the
speed of sound and love.
Crumbling the walls of our dissent of masses crowding at
the bastille gates, as sharp as a guillotine’s razor knife blades.
The  blood creating a hurricane as calm as an atomic bomb,
unleashing its furry.
Feeling the fresh flesh burn an incinerator caught in an updraft.
Spark of resent clings to the ribs of the distraught.
Up high and long ago, where god once resided among the clouds,
now remains the fear of corruption, the house of faith turns to the
house of death black as oily rain falling on sands of time.
Feet running without shoes and homes living without fumes of
carbon.
Decay prevails when our scarcity is felt, all in the nights black
wash.
My dreams foreshadow the past but reveal our future.