Things fall apart

Crimson Sky

Mayhem sweeps through the earth,

indiscriminately blowing ill winds,

trashing  crowded places,

leaving rubble in his wake

as the streets begin to tremble,

rumble as buildings tumble.


His menacing hoarse whispers

heard everywhere,

by all trapped in corners of fear,

as another dark cloud descends,

raining new rivers of blood

from dark crimson skies.


The rats ravage among the waste,

a child cries forlorn,

as nerves turn to steel

from the replay and repeat,

the distance of the blast

or just impotence with no hope.


Hands thrown in the air!

Why should we care?

Still he winds through busy streets,

He breathes into the air.

He holds his own compass

and sometimes runs on autopilot.


Those who have seen him

tell of a merciless face,

sometimes a hooded neighbor

whom you thought you knew,

now dressed in disguise,

a murderer before your eyes.