Storms are rising. Clouds gather at quickening paces, mounting, stirring, drawing in many drops of water, many heaves of dust. Darkness is hovering, filled with the drops of sin, small lies, grave killings, cursings that sway and cast bitter rain. Many storms are rising from small and great lands, from poor and from prosperous places. Storms are rising as the poor struggle to call to their kings of bitterness, that their curses be lifted and their yokes be broken.
Kings of the world are turning from the voices of anguish. They call to their commanders to trample, with swiftness, those of the rising. They hide behind brittle walls of security and false words of ambassadors’, but I see them quivering and yet they count their fortunes and map their way to a safe haven, in hopes the storm will pass.
The great storm that is rising, stirring at the horizon of my universe, will turn over every stone and reveal every sin, and none shall hide. A great sound of trumpets will call that even the dead shall rise, that all will see the coming of the end of times and the edge of eternity, yet not all will be called to cross from one side to the other.
Where will you stand when the great storm rises, when the King of kings gathers those who are willing to cross to other side, who will relinquish the heaviness of their sins and know my forgiveness is as vast as the oceans?
Who will be those rising from bowed knee when they hear their name? They who called upon the name of the son to whom all power of the storm was given. God’s Prophecy, The Daily Prophet