A Movement

A Movement

 

Shadows fleet by on the walls

Lit by the street lamps. Voices

Protest against the silence of the anchoring

Night. Blood is spilled. Opinions hushed.

It’s time for thoughtlessness to dominate

The thought.

Innocents are assailed by brutal leeches; all

The impromptu reactions – a waste of the little time

Each of the people were holding onto.

With the bottled up anger venting like

A volcano eruption, evanescent lives

Were at mercy of the wrathful. Footsteps

Marched on uneven roads like a

Storm approaching.

If there was anything like tasting the

Thunder, it was happening now. Shouts

Echoed, making the innocent

Penitent of what they’d never done. The nuances in

The sky went disregarded by the mob.

Falcons swirled as if they were clouds preparing

For a tornado.

The night was destined to be rained

With death.

Grim shadows descended like sheets of

Precipitation, bathing the roads with a darkness

That made the street lamps surrender

And succumb to its power.

The birds attacked, their beaks pointing

Downwards, wings spread out, conquering all the

Space they had.

 

The night was destined to be rained with death.

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