Look only to the Past, to Find our Future.
The Ultimate Director
By Arley Steinhour 111710
Have you ever heard a violin, Stradivarius, let's say,
Focused only on it's sound, and not the notes it play?
If, Yes, then you be soundly blessed,
If, No, appreciation be at rest, at best.
I speak not about the melody, good or bad, no care,
It's the quality of instrument, and the one who fingers there.
The Stradivarius, is Planet Earth, and the maestro, God, must be,
The music be the happenings, natural or man made, you see.
Lips and fingers, warmed up, in the Pit for Orchestra,
That shall softly accompany, Maestro's play, of Turkey in the Straw.
The seats are packed with people, plus many standing in a crowd,
The population, of Planet Earth, attends and be quite loud.
Crowd noise of Idol chatter reins, yelling ore every person near,
No one hears baton rap, nor Maestro's play, wax on mortal ear.
Slowly, crowd does quiet down, to hear what's left to play,
Hear what Maestro's finger work, makes Stradivarius say.
Audience, still, as can be, note score, to which they sway,
The music of the 'masters' ain't not being played today.
Searching deep within their brains, some recognize the play,
Panic, pure panic, fills their eyes, as they cry and say;
The Maestro isn't who we thought, a Fake today does play,
God does now manipulate, the unsaved, who've gone astray.
Most will sit, stand, and sway, as if Maestro stage belong,
Some eyes focus on Conductor, not noticed by the throng.
Those few, who even notice, become the 'Chosen,' last of all,
They lovingly do cast their gaze upon, Conductor before the fall.
Some how, in the twinkling, of any mortal eye,
Those few do cease to be, disappear into the sky.
The remnant of the Bride they be, last Rapture by the Groom,
The sheep and goats directed, left and right, through God's Anti-room.
The maestro starts to take a bow, but there's no body there,
Arc-Angel, name of Mi-cha-el, grabs maestro by the hair.
Chained and bound securely, maestro-Satan locked away,
Not to return and bother man, for a thousand years of day.
The Word of God, takes control, of Planet Earth that day,
To Rule, with Law, and Iron Rod, cleaning final dross away.
Once a thousand years pass, God frees Satan again to lure,
Every soul, on Planet Earth, who still would be impure.
The war that comes is very short, allowed by God, depend,
They raise arms to fight a fight, HE speaks A word: The End.
Judgment takes a little time, all souls meet their fate,
Every soul will bend a knee, to worship God, some Too Late.
Those Faithful to Messiah, will have Eternity,
To Live before God/Jesus, and ever more be FREE.