Quake

What today do we know of tomorrow's promise? Are we responsive to the wind's suggestion or the painted tales of celestial warnings? In hues of cucumber, marmalade and silk do we derive whim and intention by robust enamel's painted by the hand of God's resplendent Glory? Do dreams in august whisper warn the morn of what shall be born by noon tide? What gamut array may we display codifying the relationship in predictor puzzle that man may seek majesty's wisdom in purse or presence of wind washed stalk or winter walk? Shall we seek magic's lure once pure to accept the wind, sea and sky of His intention and once tomorrow's day known what potions shall be sought or bought to temper that which has been through will delivered? 

Shall reason abandon man in the quest to avert God's Holy Plan, shall Earth and sky now fall to the powered and potent few who would renew God's choices with their own voices? Commanding Sky to be Earth and vise to be verse we go from Bad to Worse as the wicked heart of man begins to supersede the need for survival of the fittest as we are now pit against the will of unholy mortals pent upon the day that they have ordered. What shall become of some without recourse or sorceries to counter? As man becomes his own Creator revising reshaping that which had once been termed perfect now reflects the face of new master in disaster beheld the wicked face of man's ambition to become the God who loved them.