Galloping through the glen, only fools rush in; heeding no warning – they come.
Seven seals, covenants; doctrines of fate opened.
Scorched earth, battle ax brawls, plague of mankind & the rider, the pale horse shrieks nigh.
Seraphim banshees unabashedly blanketing the unmarked ones for saving.
They guard against tyranny, the mortal coils – clinging tighter to what little controls remain. Their presences persist, resist, and reclaim.
Upon their wings is writ ‘Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus’, upon their lips ‘nihil est extra omnia’
Their world ~
Far removed from our own microcosm of immaculate expression.
Below, one white crow sounds off – alerting to the dawning of a new day; we rise again, & again, & again.