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.
