Maimed treachery summoned forthwith; cast out upon ill fate.

Darkness approaching; visions now sure of The Eastern Gate.

Smooth gray skies lay low on the horizon and kiss an ocean green.

Paradoxes in nature chase the black tide fast forward in my dream.

Voices cry out from beneath the oceans red white desert sand.

Dead nations of those which were before call forth to the loping wind.

My ears give succor to the maddening, my eyes reveal the coming time.

Jurisprudence of all which was known gives way to the legalities of my mind.

So therefore on this palm which crashes without sound into the murky sea.

I stand at the ready; defying the galloping wind as the past present reinforces me.

For no weapon that is formed against me shall prosper, and no man shall meet my end.

Therefore I watch the rolling thunder as it transverses the eastern sky and I in His power defy the loping wind.

J. Allen Wilson ©

FOUR -TEN- TWO THOUSAND & SEVEN

Tybee Island, GA.

www.Jallenwilson.com