she rips though,
dipping the sky black in despair,
the faint hiss in the distant air that is her greeting,
marks death for those who wait to see her closely
she wears a jet black skirt of debris,
as she spins her deadly dance across the marked land,
ripping and shredding
those who would try to court her
those poor souls,
bold enough to think that if they stare hard enough,
she might extend a merciful hand,
she never does,
she,
the deadly renegade mistress of the heavens,
spares no one