There she stands

Stunned and bound

Perched and ready to spring forth

At the blast of the seventh trumpet

She is like a jungle cat

Impatiently waiting in her lair

Her mouth agape and moist with blood

Her stomach filled to capacity

With the innocent flesh of the chosen few

Into the belly of The Beast

Go the pure and blameless

Riding its underground bloodstream

For the swipe of a plastic card’s escalating tribute

Unconcerned and blessed

Unaware of the dangers

They wind their way from day to day

From up and down and back and forth

Left and right and in and out

As on they march to desks and ditches

Earning the week’s worth

Unto hell’s appetite

While there she stands in her crimson vestments

Gritting her teeth and grinning with spite

Knowing her wealthy smile will soon be history

For this is her hour

Her season

When Earth must surrender its bounty

By divine appointment

Before sin can burn its final fire

Then will the Prophetic spectacle of the Harlot’s annihilation

Be fulfilled

John Christopher

1999