And the Trumpet Sounded

The trumpet, living, did not hear,

But saw its legions crystal clear.

The dead, they turned on those held dear,

The end of days began with fear.

…

With cold indifference stood the sky,

While those below, in droves, they died.

No place on Earth so sanctified,

That it was spared from living's cries.

…

Marched forth the legions of the grave,

To feast on flesh by means depraved.

Thus went by the end of days,

As the flesh of living dead did crave.

…

And a single trumpet still was blown,

Over sound of demons' groans.

The old world gone, a loss bemoaned,

The Earth was now unliving's home.