Mother Natures Purge

wrecks all around me;

Old people are dying.

But what is old? Is it 7, 8 or 90?

fires in the sky;

lungs bleeding dry;

young is old. Old is forgotten;

love is scorned;

you are left alone to mourn.

Hurricanes, bring winds of rain,

to wash away the clay.

Now masks are worn,

to cover up a storm, of disease that rips away;

at your head, your stomach and even your breath;

at your health, your life and even your strength;

at your lucid dreaming;

at your human demons;

but mostly at your panicked screaming.

Tornadoes weren't enough. We were still living.

Mudslides and diver's eyes,

couldn't take out the rest.

Humans tried the purge but failed successfully;

Mother nature sent the hope that killed the rest of me.