Average Rating 0.00 (0 votes) You must login to vote He flies at the Supreme Command, Not stopping to think or doubt, Into the direction where God's sleeve stretches out —God's merciful hand. They descend with lightnings Submerged under the stratus, Whose flapping motion unravels Unevenly dispensed justice —God's silver wings. She rises to the occasion Trailing a blood-dirtied gown, Telling a grand story of battle For the everlasting crown —God's inexorable passion!

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