Darkness cast before his silent, marching roll,
His army feared, by what may be the toll.
Roiling, boiling, green bottom cloud of hail,
Petrachor and stillness in the air do tell a tale.
A battery of iced munition, you hold for the land,
Where shall fury unleashed be, as if struck by
almighty’s hand?
A cadence of your drum, rhythm, tempo increasing
wind, a sudden flashing light.
Artillery booms, announcing arrival of your might.
Bombardment commences, no regard from an angry deity.
Lifeless apathy you hold O slowly moving entity.
The moment of apocalypse consumes a crop of man,
Churning up his grain as ocean does the sand.
Attribute of mercy is not found in barrage heaved
It matters not who has faith or whom believes.
Destruction is your wake,
A farmers labor yours to take.
Without discretion for your aim
Invasion departs as quickly as it came.
Wrath released against a mortals toil,
You march away to find another field to foil.
