The string of a gentle harp

Pattering on dead grass

An ocean-like rumble

That cuts open the clouds

And stars pour their light

Until it can strike the ground

Electrifying the sky

It's the nights where

Stories are made

Dreams are forgotten

In the mud that

Splatters on your boots

And in the windows

That crash open

Letting in a gentle storm

Of windy redemption

The air is harsh

With a thousand

Damp rainbows

To grasp onto tightly

When tidal waves

Shove you down

Beneath the sweet earth

A lone golden hope

Glittering, sparkling, nurturing

It turns over dirt

And plants life neatly

So that green

Can grow out of starched ash

Where the world was

Scorched by evil

The rain brings it back again

As if it all were alive

The ground and the sky

Where strange creatures

Peer at this peculiar cycle

Of death and then life

Only to be pounded back down

Soft clay on a paint-splattered table

They watch and watch

As the earth turns 'round and 'round

And thunder peels the sky open

To allow a glimpse

into the natural fantastical