The Trumpets Blast And It's Low Sound Poem by James McLain

She,
no longer needs me.
She,
no longer screams or shouts.

There
are no hands around me.

It's neck is short and fat.
If sleep,
is where I'm at.

It's,
only then she over comes me.

While all around the world
the trumpets blow.

Your looking up at
Cloudy skies then look again
there now all clear.

So if you die when your asleep
inside
a bubble that's your home.

Be it good or be it bad that's
where You'll stay of this It's sure.
Be careful of what you dream about.
The trumpet blast and it's low sound.