• The sky clothed-a shade of blood
    Almost foreshadowing apocalypse
    The clouds worn like a pink veil
    As tornados build their confidence

    Lightning drops like teal anchors
    Almost fortelling doomsday
    Tides morph to colassal deathtraps
    Miraculously the sky turns a moon gray

    The clouds purified, bleached
    No longer like an apocalypse
    The tides recede and tornados die
    This is a day in my conscience.