second flooding of Megiddo

 
 
 
I’ve got rain.
No words.
No fancy maledictions.
Pounding drips against
my inner scream.
Out in the valley,
obscured by smoky haze,
gathering armies.
Bright polished armor.
Weaponry clean
beauteously shines,
stars behind dark clouds.
No roots to cling to.
Flood water rises,
drowns fire, air, ability to
speak of sorrow.
Ashes
fall unevenly
through seeping valley.
.
.
.
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