Praise The Lord? Poem by C H Sund

I, pray not for these dreams,
these premonitions.
They come to me...
these death dreams,
most anytime.

I who wear the robes of ordered life,
the sash of obedience,
with knees but calloused thrones
and back, a ‘canyoned’ map of reverence.
Call the Lord with arms uplifted,
and beseech him for his guidance
as his will is carried out...
Hallowed be his name.

The harlots and dregs of Earth
shall taste his vengeance sure.
For the blade of truth rests not as
I await his dreams… my penance.
And as was with Cain, so be it...
evermore. Praise the Lord…
praise the Lord!