a storm rages, never ceasing
whirling, swirling clouds
ravaging the lands below
leaving chaos in its wake
years pass, the storm only grows
getting grayer, darker, slower
not as violent as it once was
but its clouds still scream
sometimes, some nights
it pauses to watch the stars
wishing for something, maybe
or simply admiring them
it's beautiful, this storm
vast with shifting shades
an enchanting loose cannon
always on the edge of destroying it all
the storm doesn't care
who is in its path of hell
or sometimes it does
and sometimes it likes it
it brings a certain calm
this decimation of everything
devastating others and itself
watching as it's all laid to waste
