Prophecy Sibyl (a poem)

Prophecy Sibyl


I seen it in over fifty visions
That this world to its end will come
In the year, two-thousand and sixteen
For everyone! That is, if fate has its way.
And the Little Horn is at play!

While mountains split from foot to cap,
From North to South and East to West
Empires will diminish fast.
There will be no more time for nursery rhymes
Although chaos comes in heavy blocks
They also come in limits…
This is not the end, it comes again—!
From side to side, from end to end
Three hundred-million soldiers fend
What is left of the Jewish State
(who now has no more friends)
Is in the hand of God my Friend!
Though perish the bouquet it shall,
The world will still not end
But be ruled under the dear old Adversary
The Magic ruler, who can bend time
(and then descends the odd ones).

And the North will bring owe
to the King of the South
And none shall rule for evermore.
This war shall begin with old foes
now humble friends
Let us hope it is not in winter
but rather in spring.

Much woe to Persia, and Magog
That they’ve ever liv’d to see this day;
And America, who got in their way.
It is best for them to let go of the least of pride
For the worse will they have—
to have paid the price!

It is best for them who have the least
Worst for those who have the most—
In America, there will be trouble
Along the coast… the number One jet
Will be in the sky, and number two nearby.
Infantry on the White House lawn
San Francisco, Florida, Seattle, Cairo
London, and Rome—all gone, and so much more;
There will be a hurricane of dust I see
Not clearly, but conspicuously.

And I saw a Jackal turn into a horse
Disease and famine will run it course
Three Brillion dead, someone said
But I think it more…America’s Capitol
Turns into a church
But is she the whore?

Poem: 2776 (8-16-2010)