The approaching army of the sky silences
cries of loss and sorrow.
The rapidly darkening clouds above,
whilst pouring out a growl,
stirs the citizens down below.
Awakening with innate fear,
the streets clear.

The blue skies and sun succumb to the invasion;
fear reigns.
The murderous grey mass hurls deadly spears.
Carefully directed.
A volley of missiles is followed by a ground-trembling roar,
and yet more spears,
more ferocious, silent, but lethal.

Hearts beat, fast, close, one, two.
Awkward conversation is struck.
All hide their fear behind a tattered curtain of optimism.
The pinnacle, the flourish of the storm,
leaves powerful impressions.
Reminiscent of a warning;
a timely reminder.

The roar of the beast slowly creeps into the distance, subsiding.
Leaving only the rhythmic pitter-patter of tears
from a thousand floating monsters
decorating the night sky.