War
Destruction, Chaos, Anarchy
The rise of Death.
Swooping down,
snubbing out the
light of the world.
His mighty weapon held high.
Hearless malice.
Triumphant,
his servants
ripping themselves. Apart.
To pieces.
He is there
to pick up the scraps.

Is there light?
Is there another road?
Is there a way?
No,
Death, master of the universe,
Nature held in bondage.
The blood her children spill,
only weakens her. Death
feeds.
His servants delightfully,
whizzing through the flesh
shattering through the bone
piercing through the soul.
We will not surrender.
Death grins wickedly.

Lightning strikes the earth,
thunder shakes the world,
Death ravages the universe.

Thunderclouds,
once so
dark and ominous,
driven away by hope.
A truce.
Killers are no longer fired.
Brother is no longer suffering.
Mother is free.
The sun appears,
it's light
dazzling to the eye,
dries up all the
despair and
anguish.
The struggling ends, Death has fled to
another area of
family disagreement.
Nature delightfully stretches,
her heart,
which has been tortured
for six years.
This day will be etched in
history.
The year is 1945.
No more suffering, no more torment, no more agony
Nature has won.
Or has She?
Death has fled.
Or has He?