Of Rising Dust And Trumpet Calls/Unbeliever Version

I played in the woods with some others,
Our games were nearly spent,
When ringing bells climbed through the trees,
And caused my heart to rent.

With locking eyes and frozen feet
We all had known the sound,
And waking to a sense of grief
We scattered in a bound.

I reached the gates, fell to my knees,
As joy ran from my marrow,
Beholding that the gates were shut
The Truth hit like an arrow.

I beat the walls with fists of fear
And made the structure quake,
While one guard up there shrugged and turned
To leave me in It’s wake.

Rising dust and trumpet calls soon filled
The earth and sky,
So stumbling from the fort I wept,
Resigning now to die.

As fire rained and dead-men walked
My heart began to roast,
Thus ill-prepared and full of shame,
I’d meet the might host.

With sticks and stones I tried my best
And built a little cover,
While those secure upon The Rock
Would laugh and sing …
And stretch their arms …
As if to greet a lover.

I wrote this one—I’m fairly sure—around 1979-80 (apprx. age17-18) transcribed here verbatim (by “Gentile Version” I meant basically “unbeliever”)