A key unlocks the shaft of the Abyss,
Smoke pours out and blocks the sun,
Out of the smoke come tortuous locusts,
All hail their king, the angel Apollyon.
Their teeth are fierce like teeth of a lion,
Their faces look like that of a human,
Their breastplates look like they are made of iron,
Their hair appears like hair of a woman.
They sting their victims like a scorpion,
They don’t kill—only inflict serious pain,
The locusts never attack God’s children,
Their time is limited—a five month reign.
People wish for death but never receive
That’s prophecy for those who don’t believe.
This poem is inspired by Revelation 9.
Ev’ry sin is a kind of escape room,
Sometimes Satan leads you in a wrong door,
Sometimes you are in the room from the womb,
People spend years in there staring at the floor.
Then a friend lifts your head,
Instead it could be a blunt confession,
Or a heartfelt prayer opens your eyes to see,
Else a verse frees you from the oppression.
You wait for the doorway to be unbarred,
Refuse to take the devil’s communion,
Sneak courageously past the demon guard,
And run for your dear life from loss and ruin.
In the Spirit of the Lord, there’s freedom*,
He restores what the locusts have eaten**.
*See 2nd Corinthians 3:17.
**See Joel 2:25.