The Seventh Trumpet

Once again, 

I find myself engulfed

By all that I despise, and all that is not to be;

Amidst the torrents of insoluble sloth, 

With all my Muses having left me,

I sit here, helpless against he who stares back.

I am lost and fading.

My body no longer belongs to me

Then, as if a divine message meant to set me straight,

My ears catch the beginning of something thrilling

Assisted by the shield that prevents any intervention

Stimulated by the waves of repercussive anticipation

The permeating chords that signify the call of a mighty beast,

The choir that brings meaning to its roars,

The brass that is stronger than tungsten,

The percussion that assaults my own drums,

The manner in which they all unite,

Burns a ferocious blaze within my chest

My body reobtained,

My senses acutely attuned,

And my sinister sloth slayn.

The path is being cleared right before my eyes

As Mnemosyne herself whispers inspiration into my ears,

The arduous task before belittled into a mere farce.

I am unstoppable.