Unscathed by the scourges of the ages Scrying through the navel of the earth Regaling the enlightened by the gift of his aegis He journeys at will through the parallax between life and death He beacons the passage to the ivory throne He is the clavicle to the singular truth etched in stone He has wept while the destroyer rejoiced at the fall of man at Babylon But dreams of the triumphant return of God holding the head of Tyrus at Eschaton He is the sage; discarded and ridiculed by man His words resound to our inescapable end We have scorned his warnings and pitied his ways His revelational sight cannot hinder our perpetual daze The cleansing of winds of endtime draw ever so closer The Valley of Megiddo will soon be his abode The aftermath's quietude caresses his being For he knows that the virtuous have been spared from he anguish he forebode