The Storm

Tis not the dark of Night

That brings the dying of the Light.

Cry, you, who art forlorn,

Tis the coming of the Storm.

The land awash in blood and pain,

Thunder, lightning, falling reign.

Shall I see the dawning Morn?

Riding headlong for the Storm.

Burning brimstone, lakes of flame,

The king is dead, now who to blame?

Birthing fear, death is born.

Breathe my last within the Storm.

Satan is gone to rule in Hell.

In peace doth God forever dwell.

Between the two, Man's heart is torn,

And angels die within the Storm.

Patrick W. Crocker ©