The Sixth Trumpet

The Sixth Trumpet

 

The fair creature stood on the rock,

Gazing down upon the chaotic land,

Waiting to start the end.

 

Its fair hair blows in the air,

Soaking in the pain and terror,

Waiting to unleash utter hell.

 

It raises its bow and draws,

The blood tipped arrow prepared

To draw the blood of the innocent and corrupt.

 

The string is taunt and screaming

To be released and to bring death

And let rivers run the streets.

 

The fair creature releases the arrow

And it sails to its prey,

Blowing the sixth trumpet of apocalypse.

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