Upon the highest peak she stands
Angel or the devil's spawn?
Windswept tresses red as flame
No one knows from whence she came;
From her lips the sounds of death
Rolling thunder rocks the earth,
Future held within her hands
Pours from her fingers, blood-soaked sands;
Black clouds rumble in the distance
Lightning flashes sear the sky,
All the peace doves leave their nesting
From this day there'll be no resting;
Might this vision be a warning
Sent to man to mend his ways?
Still I wonder if he'll listen
From our eyes more tears will glisten;
Welcome the apocalyspe!
Behold - the firey end is nigh,
If man does not amend his ways
He will have but to count the days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem