Flee*

The finger’s on the trigger
The hand is on the hilt.
There can be no full accounting
For the blood that will be spilt.

Comes the galloping Pale Rider
To stir the dust within the camp.
Coming too, the Grim Reaper
With death’s finger, cold and damp.

The cruel, black veil is falling
Over the boundaries of the world.
All so soon the coming judgment
Will, like a fireball be hurled.

Flee now to the mountains
If it seems good to you.
Run into the deserts
If that is what you choose to do.

But no amount of running
Will stop the horseman’s path
When the God of Battles rises
To distribute his righteous wrath.


*Having closely followed the devastation of ISIS in northern Iraq, and Syria, and the incredible tales of atrocities coming out of that region, I am ever-more certain that a just God will not long permit this effusion of blood. But I am also sure that judgment is not confined to these monsters, but will come to all who do not love grace, and fall upon a merciful God.