By Yasen Vedrin
(Mortal Remains)
The clock of this blind world is ticking fast.
Its spring is almost fully unwound now.
No power given to the dark can last,
Or turn the hands forever with a bow.
A moment comes when time itself will end
Exactly at the ordered, sacred date,
The scream of startled corpses will ascend
To herald all the judgments of God's fate.
The glittering grand palaces will fade.
The pompous elite will shiver in surprise.
Their sin will seek for advocates and aid,
But no one will forgive them or their lies.
The cheap and dirty glory of the thief
Will turn into a filthy, ragged space,
When the Grand Judge demands, in their belief,
What goods they stole from paupers in disgrace.
In nightmares, like a fate that cannot bend,
A retribution over Evil will strike,
Because the hell takes its own in the end,
While it screams out in horror, ghost-like…
The clock of this blind world is ticking fast.
Its hands are crawling closer to midnight.
The earth will wait for justice at the last,
With chasms between luxury and plight.
And may this Moment, this fateful earthquake,
Descend upon my spirit soon to heal —
For guiltless in God, yet guilty for world’s sake,
Living almost like on a Cross, I feel…
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