Judgment proclaims
that blood must be shed.
Wrath is a flame,
where all fear to tread..
Holy things gaze,
only with guarded eyes.
Worship and praise
continually rise.
In twain they are covered,
by feathers of Light,
suspended to hover
in the realm of His Sight.
Terrible Vision
that can strike you blind,
split-second decision
that will melt your mind.
Caught in the storm
created for Pleasure,
their wings will keep warm
their most adored Treasure.
Angelic beings
with godlike desire.
Drawn from the dreams
of Elijah's fire.
Whispers of nightmares,
birthed from stray stars.
Never seen anywhere
machines made for war,
Cringing still, each awful face,
from a Most Holy Throne,
never to know the rapture of Grace,
only countenance of stone.
No human could conceive
their purpose or plan;
And I choose to believe
their sustenance flows from His Hand.
My weakened eyes surely can't behold
my King's work of art,
but you cannot buy with mere silver or gold,
the peace He instills in my heart.
And all that I may seem to be,
in this veiled disguise;
Cherubim know when He looks at me,
His Reflection, is in my frail eyes..