Poetry for the Glory of God

Feel the wind? T'is strange today,
Thick with the smell of the rain
For the waters are filled with blood.
The vials have been poured in the flood.

Angels cheer, for the Lord is just.
They cry, "They have killed your prophets!
Let the vials flow into the dust!"
Our prayers of peace are as forfeit.

For the world does not repent,
Nay, it curses God's own name.
And so the sixth vial, it is sent,
Alas, our answer is the same.

Feel the wind? T'is strange today.
The sixth vial, it has flowed away.
The final pours under the sun.
A voice is heard; hear? "It is done."