Evening seas will roll 

with our coming toxicity,

the red of blood swirling up onto our coasts.

New kings will arise 

with profound powers -



And we will marvel.



Orbits won’t hold our attention 

until the pull has done its work,

so beneath are we, flailing under our choking spiderwebs.

We will cry for the past 

and curse our denials,



And we will survive.



Horsemen will seep 

from the remaining dust and hunt

down those with no faith in the sky, their tails like a scorpions.

Suicide is a grasp of mercy 

the survivors shall not feel -



And we will cry.



But the river soaks our blood 

and there is no peace!

Two men outside the holy place, their words hurt our ears,

our prophet will kill them

and leave their rotting bodies -



And we will not bury them.



Our eyes shall rejoice 

and gifts shall come from our hands

for our conscience is stinking in our streets.

We - unforeseeing, for in three days 

their bodies rise from the dirt -



And we will fear.



All names taken care of, 

no soul without judgment shall withstand

the greatest earthquake, breaking our world into thirds.

The people will fall and eat the dust 

as hail beats them down -



And we will die.