Behold, He Comes with the Clouds

A Poem Inspired by Revelation 1:7

The sky was quiet before the stirring,

a stillness stretched across the bones of the earth.

Mountains held their breath,

oceans folded their restless hands,

and even the wind slowed its wandering

as though listening for a forgotten promise.

Long ago the words were spoken—

not in thunder alone,

but in the trembling hope of prophets

who saw beyond the dust of kingdoms.

They spoke of a day when the veil would tear

between the seen and the eternal,

when the horizon itself would bow

before the coming of the King.

And now the clouds gather.

Not the ordinary clouds

that drift like sheep across the afternoon sky,

but great towering witnesses

woven with light and shadow,

rolling like the chariots of heaven.

Behold, He comes.

Across the vast blue cathedral of the heavens

a brilliance begins to bloom—

not the harsh blaze of a burning sun

but the living radiance of glory,

ancient as the first dawn

and new as the breath of tomorrow.

Every eye shall see Him.

The farmer in the quiet field

will lift his head from the soil.

The child chasing fireflies at twilight

will stop mid-laughter and stare.

Kings seated on thrones of fragile gold

will rise from their uneasy crowns.

Across deserts and cities,

through forests and crowded streets,

the same astonishment will ripple

through every human heart.

Every eye shall see Him.

Not hidden in secret chambers,

not whispered behind closed doors,

but openly—

as lightning splits the night

from horizon to horizon.

Even those who pierced Him.

The hands that once drove iron into mercy,

the voices that mocked the wounded King,

the crowds that chose darkness

over the gentle fire of truth—

they too will see.

The scars will still shine

like stars upon His hands.

And the memory of that hill

where mercy bled into the dust

will rise again before the world.

Nations will tremble.

Empires built upon pride

will shake like fragile towers of sand.

The idols carved from stone and ambition

will crumble beneath the weight of His presence.

For no crown forged by human hands

can rival the diadem of eternity.

The earth itself will groan

like a long-suffering witness

finally beholding the Judge of all things.

Some will fall to their knees in wonder,

their hearts breaking open

like seeds beneath the rain of grace.

Others will hide among the mountains

and call to the rocks for shelter,

for truth is a terrible light

to those who have loved the shadows.

Yet even in the trembling

there is mercy.

For the One who comes with the clouds

is the Lamb who was slain.

The Lion whose roar shakes the ages

is the Shepherd who carries the lost.

His coming is not merely thunder—

it is also the dawn.

For the weary who waited in faith,

for the quiet saints who prayed in secret,

for the broken who clung to hope

when the night seemed endless—

their tears will turn to rivers of joy.

The graves will remember their promise.

The dust will awaken with song.

And the long exile of creation

will end beneath the banner of His reign.

Behold, He comes with the clouds.

The heavens will open

like doors long sealed by sorrow,

and the glory once glimpsed

by prophets in trembling visions

will flood the world like morning.

Every eye shall see Him.

From the first heartbeat of humanity

to the final breath of time,

every story will converge

upon that single radiant moment.

And the voice of eternity

will echo across the universe—

Surely.

Amen.

For the King who was crucified

is the King who returns,

and the clouds themselves

are only the dust

of His approaching glory.