Crumbling

Rocks fall like earthen projectiles from the sky.
Steam; heat; stench of death rising,
floating above the spirits of soon departed souls.
Black skin, white teeth.
Tears flowing.
Cries, wale’s like wild beasts.
Death comes, we run, we hide,
we seek the protection,
the safety of a room barren without adornment.
Shattered glass,
a fallen portrait,
dirt smears a pretty face.
The bowels of the earth rumble,
they growl,
shaking loose the meager creations man
has made to protect its head from the sky.
All is dismal, frightening, and sad.
Yet, in the horizon a light can be seen coming from the distance,
from a future time where all is good,
where laughter hangs in the air like the song of birds.
People smile with eyes and lips.
Where bread is plentiful water clean.
A time when human eyes are ever watchful,
ever waiting for the moment,
when the son’s reign will begin,
and time will seize to be a thorn to mortal men.