Poetry

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In The Midst of Heaven, I saw another Angel flying
With The Everlasting Gospel, to Preach to Men, revealing
To Every Nation, Tribe, Tongue, and People, saying, they should fear
Fear God, give Glory to Him, for The Hour of Judgment is here

Worship Him, who made springs of water, the Sea, the Earth, Heaven
Another Angel followed, saying, Babylon is fallen
That Great City, because she has made All Nations, drink the wine
Of the wrath of her fornication, its destruction, divine

A Third Angel came and said, if anyone worships the beast
His image, and receives on his forehead, the mark of the beast
Or on his hand, he too shall drink the wine of The Wrath of God
Which is poured full strength, into the cup of The Anger of God

That he shall be tormented Forever, with fire and brimstone
In The Presence of The Holy Angels and The Lamb, be thrown
The smoke of their torment, will ascend Forever and ever
They who worship the beast, have no rest day or night or ever

Nor those who worship his image, or have the mark of his name
Here is The Patience of The Saints, who respect God and His Name
Here are those who keep God’s Commandments, and The Faith of Jesus
I heard another Voice from Heaven, speaking of the Righteous

To write, Blessed are The Dead, who die in The Lord, from now on
That they may have rest, from their labors, their works follow them on
Then I looked, behold, a white cloud, on it sat The Son of Man
Wearing a Golden Crown, a sharp sickle in hand, sat this Man

An Angel came out of The Temple, yelled to Him on the cloud
Thrust in Your Sickle and Reap, for the Time has come, is allowed
For YOU to Reap, Your Planted Harvest is Ripe, upon the Earth
So He, who sat on the cloud, thrust in His Sickle on the Earth

Then another Angel, came out of The Temple in Heaven
He also had a sharp sickle, awaiting what would happen
An Angel came out of The Altar, with Power over fire
He cried out to Him, who had the sharp sickle, to inspire

Thrust in your sharp sickle, and gather the clusters of The Vine
The Vine of the Earth, her grapes are fully ripe, which suits Us fine
The Angel thrust his sickle into The Earth, gathered The Vine
It’s thrown into The Great Winepress of The Wrath of God, divine

The Winepress was trampled, outside the city, and blood came out
Up to the horses’ bridles, out of The Winepress, blood spilled out
For one thousand six hundred furlongs, quite a lot of Mankind
Was this what God Planned, or what someone or something else designed

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