The slaughtered, sacrificial Lamb, risen!
The Coming Comforter, now come!
The Prince of Peace who brings a sword,
stands at the front of the long battle line.
His angelic army and His holy, sainted warriors,
armed to the teeth,
having put on the Full Armor of God.
In His scared hand,
Jesus holds a bomb from Gilead,
fuse lit and sparking.
Arrayed before Him,
stands the savages of Satan,
waiting their destruction,
wailing the hopeless cry of the irrevocably damned.
The outcome of this last battle
engraved in the Book of The Dead.
from the beginning of time.
Evils minions bare their necks,
awaiting the razor edge of Justice.
The ammunitions of their mutiny spent in
wasted skirmishes and past, pitched battles.
They have come now to this final killing field
in full knowledge of their bloody efforts futility.
This, their last stand.
The Christ turns to His vast host.
They smile to see, at last,
the cleansing fire glint in His eyes.
They smell the blood of their ancient enemy.
In His right hand, Jesus holds high
His flaming sword.
He turns to face His foe.
“It Is Finished!” He roars.
He lets lose the fateful lightening
from His terrible swift sword.
He charges forward,
His screaming followers behind Him,
into this culminating blood-bath,
murder on their minds,
“Revenge, at last!” their war cry.
“No quarter!” they bellow.
Black flags fly above them.
Victory rolls on before them.
the final casualty
of this last,