We know not what's ahead--
Not good at beyonding, futuring,
Imagination pre-shrunk, spun dry.
But stars leaf-like
A trumpet voice will call
And all the saints will rise--
Meet Jesus in the skies.
Eyes joy burn
Ears bright learn
God praised by every burning bush
And every dancing, clapping tree.
"Immediately after the misery of those days, the sun will turn dark, the moon will not give light, the stars will fall from the sky, and the powers of the universe will be shaken.
"Then the sign of the Son of Man will appear in the sky. All the people on earth will cry in agony when they see the Son of Man coming on the clouds in the sky with power and great glory. He will send out his angels with a loud trumpet call, and from every direction under the sky, they will gather those whom God has chosen...."
--Matthew 24:29-31, God's Word translation
Poem and photo ©2009 James L. Swindle