Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Fall of the Angels (Poem)
He stood there, mighty and wise,
His feet on golden ground.
With hand outstretched, His will made clear,
the choirs of angels resound.
Infused beings, their souls all-knowing,
one choice remains to make.
A choice of service, or of war,
their eternity is at stake.
Some choose life, and others death,
no tremor in their thought.
Painful collision and cosmos separation,
As all God's angels fought.
A swords destruction, a prophetic pen,
mankind's histories commence.
A half-way choice, incomplete voice,
the redemption of sense.
Battle's noise and evil's strain,
resound amidst black clouds.
God's own strength, insufferable contention,
the break of the sky is loud.
Those to whom electric measure,
riddled, unsound, deranged,
Cannot with likely power specters,
Abide in harmony's range.
While voices pure, and voices corrupt,
resound in their own chamber.
Meeting only, with clash of steel,
in earth's moment's languor.
Reining the ultimate Benediction,
Apocalypse's clangor desist,
Purple spares the gray forever,
As light and dark subsists.
No light apart, no partial dark,
The assigned perpetual situation.
Clear and glowing, dense and encrusted,
Two fires' unending condition.