Approach

Approach of Wind, it chills in a particular way. Unexplainable, how it carries in competing tandem, of unknown elements brought into the arena, bare. Doctor's bag opened of winds, surgical biopsy underway, in new mandated trailways. Membraned channels of envelope streams holds aloft vapors of vial serums, like a bassinet with black wings. Intheorium sends it's postage. It soothes the Cesarean Earth in her pangs, for mankind's evil is great. How can it stand to be. So he sends them a strong delusion so that they may believe a lie. Armies shall pillage the Family and upend the carts in the Marketplace. Souls shall be scattered to the four winds, looking desperately for a compass that can find the head. Delivery, once slow, has increased exponentially. Magma rivers will haunt the landsape like lions, Nemian. Great forges looking for gold to smelt into idols of Pompeii. For he shall stand in his Pomp in the Temple, then sit, as if he is God.