The
silence inside the stars, from earth’s vision: men decry to God’s
wisdom, and see visions!—
This is when God had blinked his eyes, and
the evening stars trembled, no
longer in a solitude or rest, and balance.
This was when all creation had to face
cosmic tides of chaos, in the
Heavens?
“How deep is this abyss of night?” will be asked: when chaos will not
rest!
Ah, then man will ask and seek, as the
seas ebb and sway, — the oblivious
“Whomever they are in this deep, these Armies of eternal night, cold
and bold: as they may be, combatants from the ramparts of some
remote garrison, inside some far-off nebula…why do they approach?
Do they not seek to storm beyond the
immortal lights of Orion?”
They gaze upon the gulfs in the curvatures
of time: they wish to burn, and
they walk with stellar doom.
These armies, immense, should they not be
hidden from earth, wrath would
they bring—
Until now, God has made them unforeseen!
And man has only dreamed in dreams, and in
visions, of their schemes.
Should imaginings become reality—they
would create a battle path of
menace that would sway to irrevocable war—
Wars for a generation—
Armageddon’s stellar doom: a deep blood
splash, from the heavens,
wherein lies the unbegotten.
How narrow the channel between them and
us— they even now set eyes
upon our orbit; and to them we are but the untrodden dens of the
cosmic strange… to conquer and enslave!
Lo! The brief yet cunning evil kept in suitable shape for this
gloom filled
day, prophetic doom,
approaches—
Marked by annexed darkness, unstable black matter and energy, with
thrones of fire, from
some lost destiny, no longer silenced by God’s
timepiece, thus, the ghostly hours have come, Orion’s horsehead of
light
its firmamental
gloom, belted with suns and showered with chaos
Has seen the earth’s helm, its sublime array, now comes this
heavenly fray
this, march of
menace… an untillable immense!
The whole universe now in high unrest—; in a darker darkness,
where man
has never been, nor
seen, where matter is thick, and as liken to hot magma mass, where dead stars
are swallowed up deep into spiral
pits of
cosmic darkness,
where once the angelic prison for the unvirtuous seraphim were imprisoned, no
longer caught in this fiery quarry, its
endless maze, swaying
in appallingly walls, trying to escape those fatal days — these cosmic foes,
ere, they know their doom filled, as the axles of
earth knows it,
breakability, if only for a moment, to create a hush so deep… no thing or
being, would be able to withstand the swift
immeasurable night’s
doom— Lo! From the lapse of form!
Lest Elohim’s hand take up man’s fate!
Behold, not even the stellar strongholds
deep in Orion, with their cosmic
besieging armies, and their legionaries, nor the supreme armies of the
deep spiral abyss—whom are but barbaric eyes to God—should he
interfere, in these not so far-off days, man would vanish into the haze,
the invading flames, of chaos, into the bombardment of a thunderous
trillion-trillion, cosmic neutrinos!—
And knocking out all the biological
ancestral material that God used to
mix and produce life.
And should not God shorten those days, all
that will be left will be a
cosmic tomb, and the grit of firmamental gloom!
And I had seen in a vision, of those not
so far-off days: that the sun was
powerless to illume the moon, dwarfed—; the time of sorrows.
And I had in those not so far-off days:
denial of this end, that this perfect
and final war of wars: mutate was man’s mind to this comet’s like
blaze, of destruction; as if to become frozen primordial soup; perhaps
to reform at another time, under the right conditions.
And to them that would not kneel, were
thrown into a fiery mote; into a
encoded doom by the dark messengers, of
gloom.
Now the vision has passed, all that was to
be hidden into the unfathomed
stalls of mystery, will appear tier by tier, until the very end, which
is without question, jut when!
No: 4430 (July
2, 2014)/ revised and reedited August 26, 2014, reedited/revised: 8-20’15/ For: Naason Mulatre, Cecilia Matias
Aliaga and Marge McPartlin
