Revelation

The coast of Spain was shrouded gray
a warning from God that fated day
when thunder cracked the sky at dawn
before the cock crowed his song.
The sands of Malaga, golden no more
stretched, like Death, a plutonian shore
and the sea drew back in deep gasp
as though to avoid some dreadful task.
And the wind went still, though heart was racing
and the frantic penitents began their praying
for above, as the thundering sky went quiet
and everyone braced for some coming crisis
a figure emerged from cloud and surf
like gruesome embodiment of long-cast curse
and they stretched out a hand toward gathered crowd
and all the faithful began to close around
and then a flash, but with no roar
as heaven broke down it’s golden door
and the souls of selves gone long past
rushed down in clouds, drawn lightning fast
and as they drew near the prayers reached up in praise
as the saved welcomed their Judgement Day
and the rest looked round
lost on the ground
as vanished were those
that the angels chose
and gone were memory of vice and sin
as came from the sea, the four horsemen
and cast behind were spirits in white
and beyond them an earthquake rang out in the night
and seven trumpets cast out their ringing song
and follow that, all was gone.

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