Story in the dawn
Story in the Dawn
In yonder skies at break of day,
when the canopies are parted,
when stories come into view,
their brightly colored pages
of bronze and sapphire turning,
the beauty of the drama unfolding,
warriors with hostile faces
charging ahead with bloody spears
and swords in their sheaths,
going to war with the
phantoms of the night,
attired in steel and purple maze,
manning chariots across the firmament,
spewing horizontal plumes
of red and yellow,
commanding the clouds to move away
with their intimidating countenances,
their contorted faces of ghostly white,
hidden behind their ghastly masks,
putting their battle plan in order,
conjuring up the ultimate weapon
of fiery yellow and blazing heat
from their hidden secret arsenal,
hoisting it up on the backs of
a million and sixty seven slaves
with arms of steel and feet of helium,
rising above the horizon with a plan
to drift across the shrinking skies
and do the same thing the next day.
With the battle won,
The sun reigns victorious.
Mother Nature writes
The same story every day,
But the same plot unfolds
In such a beautiful way.
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