The Heroes of a golden age

In my most sinister nightmares and in my waking hours,

I have felt the presence of an eerie monolith that devours.

The goodness that still lives on our planet Earth,

Is now in peril of a corrupted abomination's mirth.

If I speak of the menace, a mad man they shall call me,

And if I show them, none of them will see.

For a disease feasts on the mind of the uncomprehending,

And ,willingly too, they will let it be.

For whom the bell tolls at the end, I ask all,

Not the bureaucrats and the soldiers of the last fall,

But the behemoth that now resides in all hearts.

Where do I go and what at all do I say?

God won't answer me, I am a sinner, to my dismay.

The forest burns of ignorance and arrogance,

While life lays still in the middle of sombre dance.

To what coda will it end, few shall perceive,

The rest shall perish, that will be the mercy.

For those who remain, it will be these signs,

That no one shall see anything, even though none are blind,

That no one shall hear anything, even though none are deaf,

That no one shall speak, even though none are mute.

In such a world I might survive still, albeit in misery,

Only in dreams shall I travel those sceneries.

But wait, the door opens and a dark shadow emerges from the light,

The shadow of a hero of a golden age, with God's righteous might.

Enters he on a horse of golden, and the hero raises his sword,

With glinting ambers behind, a menace against the enemies' horde.

The hero put forth a hand, beckoning me to take it and follow,

That for today horror still stays, but not for tomorrow.