Thursday, December 16, 2004
Can you feel it?
It is comming.
The dark mist is moving from the west.
Slowly ever so slowly, making its prescence known.
The winds are slowly rising.
Blowing, blowing
So Strong, so powerful, so sure of its intent.
It is screaming, can't you hear it?
Howling, howling. Like a cornered animal so sure of its impending death.
It is comming.
The sun is covered by angry clouds.
So black, so dark that not a single ray of light could penetrate.
The flowers are wilting, dying one bye one.
The birds are no longer singing, nor grazing the trees around
Death permeates the air.
An odor so foul, so rancid is left in its wake
The world is slowly being engulfed in a dome of shadows for what lies ahead is to horrendous to accept.
It is comming.
No prayer, no plea could stop its voyage.
No amount of hope, no amount of want could hinder its path.
It is comming.
It brings forth coldness that embraces your existence.
Like a cloak that takes away all the warmth
Its touch are like frozen talons burrying itself into your heart
Oh the pain, such pain, such agony
As though your soul is being wrenched from your body, leaving you numb.
Empty
It is comming.
And there is nothing that can be done
