A thousand thousand lightning strikes,
Upon your gnarly peaks and pikes.
Soft snow swirling gently down,
It may take weeks and weeks.
To reach the point of crashing down,
On unsuspecting soul or town.
Or melting into a mighty torrent,
Lands below to ravage and wrent.
A mighty tempest does unfurl,
From its clouds a whirl a whirl.
Ripping everything in its path,
With no mercy, mindless wrath.
Heavy raindrop with a thud,
Making more than just some mud.
Rising rivers rip away,
Land, the trees, souls that stay.
Rising up out of the sea,
A monster's eye one cannot see.
Lashing fury upon the land,
Flooding inland from sea to sand.
Mountains move slowly by,
Opening the Earth with a mighty pry.
Spewing fire upon the land.
Creating contours with a fiery hand
Comets and meteors fill the sky.
If they will hit not when or why.
Such beauty when they’re spent,
Each big hit an extinction event.
A long hot sun will dry and dry,
Kill and kill as months drag by.
When winter comes there is no mirth,
In the killing of half the earth.
The Erinnyes, fragment of Acropolis marbles
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull
Read War's End, the Novel