Words of The Lamb

by Sherry Green

The road, once walked, rippled like
a ribbon in wind—
hard-packed dirt became soup.
Tremors folded trees, shook walls.
Mortar between rocks fell into dust—
filling air like acrid fog.

Blackness descended to depths, planting
spears in Earth’s heart.
All creation groaned and trembled.
A roar from heaven poured down to a death—
spread like a sheet in wind to
all corners of creation.

Then it happened—came to the edge.
A curtain once held ancient secrets—few ever neared.
He’d said, as a mortal, “Everything hidden
will be opened, every secret brought
to light.”

That curtain, thick with dust, had
hung for eons against those secrets—
essence of heaven hardly glimpsed.
Then, with that one death, tremors
reached through space, earth and time—
and ripped that curtain open.