The Trumpets blow and down the Angels march,
The Earth beneath a sea of blood, to cast;
A plague of white and gold the land beholds
To find its end entrailed in nature's mould,
Enflamed, defamed, and drowned, then stripped of love;
The Angel army march, but then, as one,
A single hen, enlightened eyes, it sees,
It screams and wails and pleads for thee to leave,
For help but no avail, but scream it did,
Unnerving Angels just enough to split
The will of many Angel hearts a'two;
So hide behind some flesh, the Angels choose,
Erase the memories of heaven's port;
To humans, blindly further wage the war.
© James L. Bates