A bruise to mark the arrival
Of the storm that will wound the land.
A resonant sound stirs
Deep within the vault of the sky.
It will come soon
And the wound will be deep.
The warning rolls along the sky;
Cobalt clouds bear the silent flicker
Of white fury.
The bruise spreads.
Feeble light flees before it,
Cowers and is lost to its shadow.
The reach of its presence inescapable.
The air turns to acrid hot sulphur.
Birds take to the sky.
There is no escape.
A single silver tear falls;
Hits the ground like shattering glass.
The breath of the storm is held.
In but a heartbeat,
Before the end of the world.