The days come when the American house of ill repute will be ripped from his hands. In that day, will he rule from the district, in the distance of the sound of his voice, as the Virgin staggers scattered upon the fruited plain.
The dragon will gnash her crown and in siesta her shoe will be stolen.
The dragon warms itself upon her oils and the siesta eats her food, as both rip the sheets of her bed, clawing at the flesh in pools of blood.
Believe not the prophet for he is false, oh Man of God, for the martyr is not an offering in the land of death, nor is there consolation in the lion's prey in the land of the living.
The pot is empty. The house is void. The purse is vacuous. Their souls are not shadows but darkness. They have vacated the Lord their God. The hollow of His hand is now emptied of them.
There sits in crimson square the Bolshevik lord directing all. That what he has planted will harvest for him a greater return a the bear lays his corpse waste upon his domain.
The Republic has become a city state, a despots enclave. a gulag ghetto, a whore's reward.
The people are scattered and each does what they judge right The forest is their court and the field is their jury box. Under the tree they pass sentence as the frayed rope hangs the body politic.
There they pass law from memory, a tattered book of thought in what feels right is more than the codes they were criminalized by years before.
The limbs are sparse and the leaves are forlorn as they mourn in the wind in the song of betrayal and death. A somber shroud they cover the survivors and land where mirth is heard no more.
I will not go down to Bethaven for Bethel has lost it's ladder. My ladder is when Shiloh comes and my footstool path is by His Light.
They watch in morbid solitude the slaughterhouse of ill repute. The leaf as the corpse has become the brothel's graveyard as the heart has become hardened as the whores in nothing felt for the scene upon the land.
You want more prophecy? Then you prophesy for your own reward in what will be as knowledge has lacked and none searched for it in ignorance grasped in blinded darkness.
The Prophet is mad. The Man of God a fool. Surely this has not come to be in a moment so it is wrong.
agtG 266
