Trumpets sound, as cherubs play in concurrence melodies that chime.
In such mystic consonance, they bear the guise of true magnificence.
Halos to glint, and wings to open the gates of heaven in due time.
They lead the flock of souls forthright, in such celestial presence.
As one by one extolled, they bestride into the godly wind.
Hallow soldiers sent to the earth, in search of hollow souls.
The guardian angels shelter us, within our fate until the end.
They are bestowed upon us to thwart always our eternal foes.
The skies are afire, as God arrives in a blazing chariot onto freedom.
There to break the manacles, and never to put asunder man's belief.
He cleanses our hearts, and leads us into the mist of halidom.
Behold the wondrous sight of man's heedful plight in heave.
Comments about this poem (Halidom by Franc Rodriguez )
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