Bereavement embraced the ancient ground, as fear tore at the heart of man. Suffer not the children to lie bleeding in the street, weeping for their dead mothers who shall never again smile, nor speak. Silence as if a thief has taken their sound, as choking rancid smoke encases the bodies that lay strewn around. Bitter visions cloud their tear-swollen eyes, as tiny rivers of misery roll down their cheeks, as another one dies.

Large metal birds in attack formation blacken out the sun, dropping silver cylinders of death on those too weary to run. As the city crumbles, and the ground rumbles, life vanishes beneath their running feet, and another child begins to weep.

Pity the children, and see their pain…feel what they fear and try to explain. Victory has it price and it is a debt that can never be paid, for more was lost than could ever be gained.  The outcome is certain, death an absolute, as the night sky spills forth its Terminal Rain.

J. Allen Wilson 2003