rejoice (and behold)

It’s not something you can just argue over,
like the sun
and the moon
and the stars
and death
and God.
No, it’s much more than that,
something that is as dark as the sky
when hope has decided to flee.

Life, whispered into the fallen.
Breath, pushed into the warriors.
And when their eyes open in the light
of the night
they look up to you and they
don’t know
if they should thank you or
kill you.

It doesn’t matter either way.

The humans turn to ice
on and on,
and forever
they freeze.

Their souls, where do they go?
Their hope, where does it go?

The sands of many nations
crushed lightly under your feet
while the waves of many worlds
lap at everything
and your eyes change colors
as fast as the everflowing
wind
and you raise one hand
into the air, with no expression,
(expressions are feelings,
feelings are death.)
and it watches you
and it is war.

It drags them down
with a vengeance,
something no one can understand.
It pounds at the earth,
growling and killing
millions without regret
and it rises from the dark,
and no one can beat it.

Another rises in the sea,
with a mouth of many teeth,
slithering forevermore,
with the eyes of a great serpent.
And it laughs,  
(levithan, they sing, behold!)
cold and metallic, like a blade,
and the blade cuts into your faith.

The rise is as greatly known
as the next person in waiting.
It is seen, it is heard,
but not approached.
They are sure to die soon.

They fight for life,
But life fights from them.

The beast and the serpent  
(behemoth, they sing, behold!)
attack without withdrawal.
They wouldn’t have been so lucky
to have such a blessing.

There is not much longer,
It is coming.
Few realize it, they acknowledge,
living their life without redemption,
tourniquets made from bouquets,
and the world lives in the night.
There is nothing left.

The last sounds are of fire
and death
and of the sea
and breath
and there is something of life
in those last moments,
that when the first seven come
all the mortals scream
and shield their eyes
from the warriors.

The seven attack the beast and serpent
and they fall
and the seven
call out
to the survivors, but they do not answer.

When the next come, it is simply
to kill the fallen
of grace,
of truth,
of humanity.  
They do not fight, but they accept,
because it was Known.

The last survivors are full of feelings.  They
are scared,
and hopeful,
and dead.

The beast is dead,
rejoice!
The serpent is dead,
rejoice!
The earth has fallen,
rejoice!

Rejoice!

For now the warriors
can rest and sands
of many nations
have tumbled into the fall
of forever
and the waves
have stilled
against your feet.
It is good,
is it not?

It is dark, again,
but no one is left to wait for light,
so the darkness continues
to sit
and still
and lay.

It is time.
The beast wails
from its eternal
night
and day
does not
come again.

Rejoice,
for the world has stopped
and rejoice,
for it will not start.

But then it does,
but the serpent
does not find
his entrance into the new,
and the beast cannot
enter into.

Glory, they call.
Glory, glory!
Unto you, glory by our King,
Glory, glory!

Rejoice, they call,
and the New do so,
with smiles,
and night does not come
as it had before
and the fallen no longer
open their eyes
to thank and kill
and it matters
greatly.

It looks
and It finds good.

And this time
the sun
and the moon
and the stars
do not argue
over matters
and the wallflowers
that grow in wilderness
cross their fingers
and it is good
and the everflowing
wind
stops
and
stills
as did
the sea
and sands
and war
has before.