A Prophetess’s Dream in Forty Flames
The Vision Beneath the Whispering Trees
A Prophetess’s Dream in Forty Flames
I slept beneath the whispering trees,
My soul undone by silent pleas.
Upon a stump the cross still stood,
And in the snow ran drops like blood.
The voice came not in wind or flame,
But wrapped in light, it called my name:
“See what comes upon the earth—
The hour of fire, the threshing birth.”
A scroll unrolled before my eyes,
Seals cracked beneath the darkened skies.
Each trumpet cried, each angel sighed—
And saints were sealed, and kings defied.
I saw the sea turn into gore,
The rivers die from heaven’s war.
A bitter star fell through the air—
Yet still the remnant knelt in prayer.
A pit was torn beneath the ground,
And out swarmed dread without a sound.
But those who bore the mark above
Stood hidden in the wrath with love.
Then war resumed with thunder’s breath,
A third fell quick to flame and death.
No man repented of his pride—
They shook their fists, and still they died.
I wept as two in sackcloth cried—
Then fell and rose, then testified.
The streets grew still, the dead drew breath—
And heaven called them home from death.
The seventh trumpet split the skies—
The throne declared: “Now kingdoms rise!”
The temple flamed, the ark was seen—
And judgments came like lightning keen.
A dragon cast from heaven’s height,
Prepared the beast, adorned with might.
False prophet praised his every scar—
And marked the world beneath a star.
The remnant watched from cave and stream,
Their lamps still lit, their fasts extreme.
They saw through lies, they heard the tone—
And followed still the Lamb alone.
Then bowls were poured in searing waves,
The seas turned red, the sun misbehaved.
The beast’s throne fell, the Euphrates dried—
And demons leapt from mouths that lied.
The harlot dressed in gold and pride
Drank martyr’s blood and prophesied.
But judgment came in burning breath—
And Babylon was choked by death.
A rider burst from heaven’s seam,
His robe was dipped in judgment’s stream.
The beast was seized, the war was won—
The reign began beneath the Son.
A thousand years the Lamb held reign,
And locked the dragon, broke his chain.
The earth knew peace, the nations grew—
But not all hearts were clean or true.
The foe was loosed a final breath,
He raised the nations unto death.
But fire fell swift from skies above—
And silence reigned where once was love.
The throne was white, the Judge was true,
The dead stood up in trembling view.
The books were opened, names were read—
The righteous robed, the wicked fled.
The earth was gone, the sea no more—
A holy city came ashore.
The Lamb, the light, the gate, the tree—
The face of God was all to see.
A river flowed from throne and tree,
With fruit for life and leaves for peace.
The Spirit and the Bride both cried—
“Come drink, ye thirsty—be supplied!”
I woke with tears upon my face,
Still tasting heaven’s final grace.
The scroll was sealed, the song was done—
Yet still the cry: “Behold, I come.”
So reader, hear this prophet’s dream—
The fire, the flood, the crystal stream.
The call is loud, the hour is grey—
Written by Marguerite Grace
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