End Time Poem by John May

The vultures, circling and soaring,
Marveled at how Gog was warring
Brutal on the sons of man
Whose mortal blood kept pouring, pouring.

That northern king, blood-thirsting, killing-
Drunk from blood he kept on spilling-
Sacked the sacred temple stones …
The sight was something chilling, chilling.

When one third fell by heavy brawling
Blood soaked grounds to God came calling:
Will you turn a deafened ear? …
Jerusalem is falling, falling!