A fine ribbon of silky grey smoke dances gracefully up into the dusky evening air. When the new day dawns it will be with the stillness of a ghost; silent and surreal, like a long forgotten faded photo half worn through the passage of time.
Few will notice; very few, only the perceptive, the not too busy. Those who can still see and feel and are wide awake. They will notice, notice the world is as still and pale as an ancient graveyard.
Busy, busy, busy. Time to go, time to do, time to tread the mill. Rush, rush, rush only too stand still. Work, work, work, no time too be, to see, to know. Wear the mask of the sheeple and run, run, run in your never ending circles.
You have to keep up, you have to stay in the race, be a good little sheeple and obey; bow because you know your betters, you can see it by the size of their car and their bulging bank balance, and like a fool you envy.
Too few of use can see, and we know, oh how we know. We are not sleeping the sleep of the un-dead sheeple, the sheeple soon to be extinct, made extinct through their dull lethargy and stubborn ignorance.
Wake them; shake them, too late, too, too late. They will soon be consumed by the burning fires of self destruction and delusion, like lambs to the slaughter. They will be taken by the foolish deceived deceivers.
We who are awake and in the know understand that Lucifer does not share. He will not share his victory; he will not share his power or his throne. And so it will be, it will come to pass that the deceivers too will perish.
The power crazed lost souls of pity will consume themselves in the shark eating blood lust frenzy of the damned. Through the last Armageddon and the final stand of men of Earth, the end times have come.
Now it is that the rules have changed the rules of the matrix. The last souls to ascend has ascended and the transition train is about to leave the station. Only the deceivers and sleepers will miss it. For them hell as arrived.
Most who perish there after will find comfort and hope. They will await their day in the sun. The corrupt, the deceivers tainted with greed and power lust, those will be cast down into lowly dimensions where they be sealed for eternity.
Those are the poor foolish souls who will reside in a bleak, dark world, a bad, bad world of their own making. You have my pity, my love, for despite what you are or what you have done we are all still one.
From the mists of a pale dying day I stare through the ice cold window of knowledge. I see a lost and faded world. A jaded world full of the sleeping, gossiping, TV viewing, disassociated. And I weep.
I found the time too see, too know and understand and therefore I weep for what could have been, what should have been if only… the loss of beauty and love and of the innocent soon to be gone.
The thin barely conscious day slips through the window pane in a gentle whisper. Too few see it as the silent specter of Armageddon swings its scythe in threatening promise. Too few of us see it.
The last chapter is filling up the last and final page. Prophecies and promises fulfilled. This experimental Petri dish we call Earth, this free will zone will soon be sterilized by the great experimenter.
A genetic pool is gathered, moved to a new dish where it is hoped that a better way to live will be found. The way, the way it was meant to be, the last hope, the last chance for man to shine.
Reality is not real. The truth is that nothing is real; truth is but an illusion. Consciousness is all there really is. Reality is that which we believe it to be. We are all of the one and shall one day return to it.
So if I should suddenly vanish fear not for me but ask your self this, Am I going to find hope amongst the dead or will I be trapped in a joyless world of my own making? That is the only real question in this false reality we called home.