Rod of God
Descending swift, the heavens cry,
A spear of wrath from sky to sky.
Metal strikes with searing might,
Splitting earth, igniting night.
No warhead borne, no blaze to spark,
Yet power rains from orbit dark.
Silent, swift, and deathly true,
The rod commands what none subdue.
From man to star, ambition soars,
Yet such force shakes our fragile cores.
Creation bends, destruction’s art,
The Rod of God—a chilling start.