They are the only ones that break me. I am the one who will mourn them. Four crooning storms with the way they thrust me further, and balance the world. Four who I seem to conquer every time. Four years I’ll deplore. From the middle of the city, I walk through grasping powerful winds, but others ignore the battle.

Their thunder ignites. They strike blinding lights one after another. They arise thoughts, and they depress thoughts and wrap the earth with inky black, and drown the paths with a river poured by the sky. This is how they thrive.
When they vanish, a brilliant scar is left in the mind like a tattoo on skin, each renew for future generations. Gone, gone, gone, they have made me strong. They guide.

Finally I become dreary and croon to rid this longing, once twitching at the thought, now I look up for glimpses of storms. Yet, soon there will be nothing but blank sky. Four who grew on me, Four who drew me closer to that song they sing. Four who teach and gladly teach. Four whose mission was to see me mourn and mourn.