The Watchman rushes to the tower’s edge.
Markets burn brightly with flickering flames.
With families inside, the old church collapses.
Eventually, a burnt corpse with no name.
From a fiery furnace rises flesh-smelling smoke.
Carrying humanity’s guilt and shame.
The Watchman escapes, sprints to the kingdom
Musicians prepare for battle with a steady rhythm
Flutes begin sounding a swift, vibrant melody
Violas pluck a soft, but forceful harmony
The Watchman cries out to a listening crowd.
“Horrific, terrifying creatures are near.
A void of black, ears turned from the sound,
of monsters writhing in pain and agony.
Strong, steel chains by which they are bound.
Where vultures flock and tear flesh apart.”
“Shh,” says the Listener. “Let me listen no more
A song of beauty would much rather be heard”
From an Evergreen tree, a raven sweeps by.
Cawing echoes, like rain before a storm.
“Shh,” says the Listener. “I will listen no more!”