The Storm, a poem by David Sky

I watched the cities across the land hunker down closer and closer to the ground looking like so many beaten down old men bowed to their hands and  knees in prayer  to their God as one long, final storm raged from east to west across the nation, from sea to shining sea, under a hideous sky broiling with fiery apocalyptic colors, muddy reds and oranges, bruised purples and browns, the smell of burnt chemical as this endless storm rushes with unnatural and foul intent razing my once great nation to the ground.