Past Future

I hear the Call of the Trumpet.. In my waking thoughts.. a music that draws me in.. soaking me in its fiery embrace like liquid magma, I drown in the hotness I fear for my kin, my kind, my race my generation, our disdain for truth and sanctity we abuse, not ready to bow to GOD, and follow sanity Death knells sounds near; a song, in its wake. liquid voices, running rhythms, flowing chants from the embryo, a locking of glances - look askance, the eyes stare in red-hot moon and cold-bluish sun, imagery meets realism and fact undresses truth.