Behold the Beast, as now it stands—
With feet like stone on ancient lands,
Slow to stir, yet firm and wide,
A bear’s deep weight in every stride.
It grows, it grips, it claims its zone,
An empire's bones beneath its throne.
Its mouth, a lion’s fearsome maw,
Roars with dread, commands with law;
Teeth like blades that swiftly rend,
Its voice a storm, its wrath no end.
Swift to speak, and swifter still
To silence all it means to kill.
Its frame is lean, a leopard’s grace,
A shadow racing place to place.
With speed that crosses seas and skies,
It multiplies where silence lies.
In days or weeks, its reach expands,
A phantom touching distant lands.
Yet not complete—its head awaits
The crowned deceiver at the gates.
When Antichrist shall take control,
The Beast shall rise and seek the soul.
A mimic throne, a kingdom vast,
Foretold to fall, but not too fast.
It lives the words of Revelation,
A harbinger of tribulation.
But still it waits, restrained by time,
To mount the heights of peak and prime.
Christ shall come and break its pride,
With sword of truth and saints beside.
But we, for now, must watch and pray—
Decades may pass before that day.
ChatGPT, May 2025
