The Sage

Unscathed by the scourges of the ages

Scrying through the navel of the earth

Regaling the enlightened by the gift of his aegis

He journeys at will through the parallax between life and

death

He beacons the passage to the ivory throne

He is the clavicle to the singular truth etched in stone

He has wept while the destroyer rejoiced at the fall of

man at Babylon

But dreams of the triumphant return of God holding the

head of Tyrus at Eschaton

He is the sage; discarded and ridiculed by man

His words resound to our inescapable end

We have scorned his warnings and pitied his ways

His revelational sight cannot hinder our perpetual daze

The cleansing of winds of endtime draw ever so closer

The Valley of Megiddo will soon be his abode

The aftermath's quietude caresses his being

For he knows that the virtuous have been spared from he

anguish he forebode