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“ Does the Angel in the Whirlwind still Direct the Storm ? ”


As blood in rivers of crude black burned
the prophets mourned
and woe upon the angel dancing in the storm
to the reign of hail
and bitterness forlorn
have returned their heroes desperate
in ranks made heroic by stone white crosses

To victorious eulogy their march to stagnant 

It is but the irony of sand and oil
and hell made fortress by the tongue of lies

And ever innocence in the whirlwind; dies

What of man by the beast encountered
shall savage applause from those demented
in praise to lift them on the tornadoes wings
the seraphim's debacle devours them
they are lost in the irony of oil and sand
as the foul tongue of lies
pours the betrayal of dust into their eyes

Triumph upon the righteousness putrefied 

The prophets torn and laid aside
in revelations promises of demise

And ever innocence in the whirlwind; dies

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