It starts with the shards of black glass flying through the air
Wild winds rub the skin raw
The sky came gray, but turned red-orange as the arid land
Welcomed the black sunset as poison in its throat
The land is sick, it seeps into the roots as an obsidian rainstorm
This is the chaos, it rules all
No room for thought can't speak
It whips the life slowly
Turning the mass into smog
Just a whisper of beauty gone
Can't find it, all gone
No remnants left in swirling plague of debris
Can't see
No room to breathe

Yet.

Then comes a breath, smooth, even
The dust is replaced with white light
The beauty returns, calm and quiet
This is Order, what is right
Good comes, draws the venom out of the system
The wind is still, then comes back
As a cool breeze soothing the skin
Returning the nature to the arid land
It will stay this way, Order
Healing, pressing, stilling, controlling
The chaos, which crawls back
An injured panther will not end the fight
Chaos will call back the red winds
And the obsidian rainstorm will return again.