The day is only a shade away from night,
As she swallows the sun whole,
And breathes it's burning ire,
Leaving cold black ashes in her wake.
The small towns blend into earth,
As she rages like a wildfire,
Screams and bellows,
And spits her agony out,
Which drowns the cries of her victims.
She takes on roads and rivers
With growls and thunders,
Her hands balled in fists,
Until a shudder runs through the tips
Of leaves to the frails of roots deep.
With her majestic form she envelops
The colourful cruel world into grey void,
And then churns it round and round
As if to rattle and shaken up it's core,
To see if she can awaken the world
To its blind monstrosity.
Only to be called a monster herself.
As the ground greets the remains
Of her innocent destruction,
As the last tree crumbles on its knees,
With a sigh she has emptied her vessel.
A loud silence the dust in air carries.
And a last long glance,
A single drop of regret,
Wells in her eyes;
And she vows to herself an eternal sleep,
A promise she knows she will be forced
To break ,each time
Her wall of stoic endurance crumbles,
Till the world learns.
Misfortunes will be named after her.
But world will only dread her return.
Such a tragic her existence that
In memory only her ruins shall be kept,
Unaware all along
That she only spilled,
What she was fed.
That she only released
What reached the brink.
She wept for her realm,
But ended up drowning it in her sea.
And went to war with a prayer for peace.
Except her soft pleas will go unheard
Over her raging screams.
And like a siren her arrival will be seen,
For century after centuries,
Until her words finally reach deaf ears.
YOU ARE READING
Handwritten
Poetry"Sometimes I wonder If this is how it's supposed to be Can I make a choice ? Or is it all meant to be?"...
