It was known a storm was coming,
Wanting to tear even the silver lining found among the
Silk of the clouds that would cry. Thievery from
No one but an envious coward sitting beneath the ground,
Looking up towards heaven.

The rain, oh how it had poured, the smog above thick,
Draining  of its victims beneath. The clouds, they were
Grumbling, whining, complaining of the sour tastes in
Which they swallowed up. The sky was supposed to be the
Paladin that drove his sword up Earth’s chest;

He wasn’t there.
Nor was the sun whom had brought prosperity to both,
To have broughten peace among the two, had now died
Out, masked among the ominousity that portrayed itself as
Our Hero on an Earth rid of joy; hushed.