Might of the Father

Fires burned through the fields of the Earth,

Screams are heard, like a woman in birth.

Children's tears water the flowers,

For no rain falls in refreshing showers.

No laughter is heard echoing on high,

Only wailing and the moaning of sighs.

You feel alone, like children forgotten,

Like an unfruitful tree, despised, misbegotten.

Down from the stars, I fall to the ground,

Destined to save you and make you feel found.

Knock on the gates of glory and light,

Ask the Father to grant you enlightened new sight.

My name is Gabriel, Mighty of Man.

I carry the sword and club in my hand.

Weary am I of man's constant wars,

It fills me with lust for the end of the gore.

Yet still you fight for the Earth below,

Not seeing its a gift on which you all grow.

So fight on, silly man, until the rivers run red,

With the blood of your own slaughtered and dead.

No pure water left to cleanse you of sins,

Only swords will remain on the globe that spins.

Perhaps I'm too bloody from your constant fights,

Perhaps it has closed me and blinded my sight.