In the Days of Noah

Jesus will come again, like strong wind, sift the grain from trash. Taking the faithful home, he leaves the rest to roam and gnash. The end for sure is known, when doubters sulk and moan, who cares. The painful state is real, too late to plead a deal: all scares. As yet his coming blares, echoing for one that dares to hear. Like a thief He will come, while the world struts in scum— the smear of life’s passing pleasure. In a trove of treasure they romp, mired in a baseless hope and unrelenting grope for pomp. © 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi