October 1, 2020

It seemed so like in eon past.
In dreams of failed memories,
Where hazy images still cast,
Of servants of loyal Armies.
Poised for the sacred oath.
Gathered in numbers, in twelves.
Yes, like a song of strong notes,
Pledges soared above heavens.

Patmos, Island of dreams.
Stone of a crystal globe.
Where every vision deems,
and servants first glow.
In the city of Ismael,
Where temple is God,
Who in the Imanuel,
Would herd with rod.

Like stars of champions,
Arrived on their post.
On earth as Stallions,
To stand as the host.
Awaiting the stranger,
Who was to make the call.
To run from danger,
Before the fall.

Like Soldiers, well-equipped.
Given, for no excuses.
Were trusted and believed,
To scale earthly meshes.
Then the call went forth,
From Mountain stranger.
Thousands were sought,
but firm on a sleeping fetter.

Totally abandoned,
Scorned, even despised,
By all He owned,
Who rather would all sacrifice,
All for His sake.
But no longer remember,
Patmos and mission at stake.
But still had gut to slander.

Now the cycle had returned.
Where are you servants of Patmos?
Scattered in sects and torn!
Fighting for a false boss.
Even when now the Dove hovers,
Calling for the last time,
who would help many cross over!
Or, be lost as you pine!

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