Of Five Smooth Stones

There are Words that lie in wait,
Prophetic Hunters covert in copses,
Camouflaged silence
Waiting to be whispered,
Ready to bring down the sky,
Salvation in a blinding blink,
New birth after the rushing water,
A cry of hope and fear,
The bloody indignity.

Not all the words have been spent,
The purse is still full,
In this world
There are  giants left to kill.
A flash mob slinging praise
Shall bring down the glory
In the great Dumbfounding. .