The Trumpet Sounds
The Trumpet Sounds
The harvest year rings, and the soulful weep,
Sin filled laugh joyfully, as the reaper waits.
Time of harvest comes quickly to its close,
The sickle is raised and ready to fall in woe,
Cleaving through unripe wheat to feed the fire.
The flame builds high as the last moment nears,
An ending to sinful strife, non-gainful toil.
The fruitless shall end their laughter in torment,
Those that heed not the call, turning in merriment.
Down comes the harvester's blade,
.....the hand of God's fell angel is released.
The grain shall be removed, and the chafe consumed,
The fire made hotter for the day has come.
Off the grain, rotted on the stalk untended,
The juiciest grapes of the vine, malnourished,
Let too long without water, to dry on withered branches.
The fire grows hot as the fuel is laid high,
And the heedless dance to the flames like moths,
.....mindless of the death to come.
Woe to man, for the day has dawned,
The great day of God's wrath on the enemy.
Judgment, judgment has come, the end is near to the door.
His hand stretches out to take His own to Himself,
All to be made new in a moment's flashing.
While the evil weep in the torment they prepared themselves,
The flames they have fed all the years.
Woe to the fruitless as they praise their own worth,
Yet are without life in themselves.
They heard the call yet heed it not in their merriment,
Enjoying the laughter of the devil's children,
Anger and greed, wealth and lust, a shadow of worldly pride.
Down the stem of thistle and thorn,
.....as well as the over ripe grain.
They stand in pride of works well done,
Unheeding the Hand that tended their needs.
They know not their root is filled with rottenness,
Decayed by their own willfulness and spite.
The good fruit is gathered in loving hands,
Removed from the burning field to come.
The first chime is sounded, the harvest begins,
The trumpet is yet to sound in warning,
And the flame laid to the stubble.
Down from the sky, fire then shall rain,
Burning and killing, in all its pain.
All things shall end, in a blaze of fire,
.....as with mankind's evil desires.
When nature itself is gone and done,
Who then will be left to cry, not one.
As the skies change from red to gray,
Life destroyed, in the eternal blaze.
Who then shall mourn the loss of man,
When the trumpet sounds an end at hand.
Not yet does the trumpet sound for man's warning,
.....His anger is not yet to it's full.
The world's children play in their greed,
Casting lies and curses as they were stones,
Their willfulness as it were laws to themselves,
They know not the fires burn against them.
They feed the flames in the haste to seek the world,
Lusting for more, never satisfied, shouting in their greed.
With mocking laughter, the devil hands them dead seed,
And they feed from the woe of his hand.
Slowly the trumpet rises, the servant prepares to sound,
The earth stands still for a moment's time,
.....silence felt in a heart's beating.
A flaming spark is set to the fuel heaped high,
Yet the soulless dance on, heedless of their despair,
Mindful only of their merriment, desire and lust for more.
The warning sounds, but they hear it not,
For the laughter of their evil way mocks on.
The trumpet sounds, they pause in fear,
Too late they see the flame rain down.
The trumpet sounds, the heap falls to,
Consuming the blooded wine of their mirth.
The trumpet sounds, and the flames rage high,
The soulless reap the reward of their greed,
Shouting the torment of their eternal pain.
The Trumpet sounds, as the hater mocks on,
.....laughing at man's despair.
Beware... for when the final trumpet sound, I shall stand ready...
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