Two Seeds

Two Seeds: Prophetic poem of good vs evil, from creation to judgment, rooted in scripture.

Two Seeds

There are two heart seeds in the world's slow tide,
one born of woman, one of death's dark pride.
The first blooms in light, with its roots in grace;
the second weaves shade, showing Truth displaced.
They're both frail and fierce, their fate yet untraced.

From every frail seed, life yearns to be born,
its heart yet judged, its worth still unshorn.
Deceit twists Truth, its foe in the fray,
patient nature's tending, turns night into day.
Seeds cast in exile yearn to stray;
Truth's spark remains to guide their way.

By shining Angel, the desert show steers,
weaving grand dreams to calm a Maid's fears.
Angel's light served the Serpent's dark cause;
life became cheap as he dug in his claws.
The Curse spawns darkened souls and ruined youth,
mindless soldiers spreading lies for the Truth.

Born of the cast-out's shadowed line,
they see good as evil and evil as good,
the Truth as the lie, as their dark hearts would.
Truth's ancient cry foretells their fall from grace;
denying the True God, they lose their place.
Their shadowed hearts embrace eternal gloom.

Holy Spirit rests in virtuous hearts;
life blooms abundant, the fruit, divine art.
The half-hearted, lukewarm, denied an embrace,
spurned for their silence, the fire, their place;
Dry grasses wither in winter's dark rent
as evil's shade begins the cruel ascent.

Satan's dark seed clouds the good's bright light,
as Truth's ancient cry forewarned their dark sight.
Seven last chances to show their remorse,
Seven last chances to revise their course.
Many stay hardened, unyielding to grace,
'till judgment fire consumes their dark face.

The end of days threshing is fierce and dire,
the Beast and the Prophet tossed in the pyre.
The flames roar and leap, devouring the mire,
with the Serpent's seed facing unquenched fire.
True light's seed is blameless before the flame,
with grace eternal, free of any shame.

Satan's bound deep, a one-thousand-year stand;
Mankind finds harmony in flesh and land.
One thousand years pass, the Liar set free;
he lures the Nations for his final spree.
Satan's time now ended; His judgment signed,
his seed's dark path to fire's doom confined.

—The Noisy Wren

I began this poem in 2014. It's taken me 11 years of growing to drip the final ink. I intend this piece to represent the arc of time from Genesis 3:15 to Revelation 20:1-10.