it awaits the dawn,
the time of hope,
the split second before rebirth;
for light must come with darkness,
laughter with tears,
and faith with dread;
its able claws reaching
a hideous shadow in the morning's
its wretched mouth frothing with slime;
a mockery of the innocent pleasure of dew.
the moment is approaching-
a time when the spirit quakes
when doubt wrestles the heart to dust,
when the blackest night seems infinitely closer
than the promise of sunshine.
its groping hand protrudes from its cavernous prison of lies
the guttural screeches of hatred spewing from its mouth
its time has come.
and with a spark like lightning it holds the earth in its power;
the tempest of mens' hearts in the clutches of demons,
thunders raging with the strength to bring down mountains
are their cries.
a trecherous arm, a thing of nightmares,
pushing away the sun and crushing the moon's gentle brightness.
winds howl across the lands,
ripping forests from their beloved earth- devouring the roots
to be digested in the blackest bile-
their embracing branches of protection and simple grace
the storm reaches its peak,
the master thinks he has won;
his hellish domain blankets the world in fury,
its capital the very soul of man.
but the dawn has not been forgotten.
one day it will awaken to its call.
humanity will break forth in rivers and bathe the lost
in its grace.
the spray of waterfalls will take the place of hail storms,
black crows will turn to sparrows
soaring on the very winds of hope.
dawn will come again.