The slumbering snore baffled the sages. Long tattered rags masked the seismic rage. For eons, scribes waited with bated breath. Ominous groans bolted prophets out of sleep. Fickle throngs belabored on with stopped-up ears. Battle drums beat somewhere in time's vast space, Faintly thumping as if Hell were marching in place. The Great Bear rose, and the Red Dragon groaned, The Eagle fluttered while the Rose tilted and swayed. Have you not seen, have you not heard? The time is at hand; the end is beginning. Faintly a horn blasts in the distance dreamily. A weary few were watching and listening easily. Others barely noticed until their screens glistened. Where did they go? The anchors droned on and on. An old tape squawked, I Wish We’d All Been Ready, the irony of something ignored so warily ignited feelings of agony until now left unexcited. How soon before vials break and wrath explodes? A trumpet blasts from heavenly places like a war cry. Have you not seen, have you not heard? The time is at hand; the end is beginning. Two fire-breathing preachers wandered outside, Speaking truths the world long shouted down. The beginning of sorrows and woe is trickling now. They shout in the streets like wild men of old. Beastly fury stamps them out they lie there cold. Moses? Elijah? Peter? James? John? No one knows. Fear, hunger, pain, madness, confusion, delusion crouch in the shadows. What does this mean? Every human lip screams. Have you not seen, have you not heard? The time is at hand; the end is beginning.
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