When the stars lost their shine
And darkness blazing forth.
When the days seemed numbered,
For the ground and skies both.
When the clouds seemed devoid of a silver line,
And the resting sun on the horizon lacked hope.
When the jaunty waves lost their moves
And imbecility overshadowed the gold.
And oblivion was on the way, it seemed as if
The devils of darkness from the underworld
Had surfaced to tackle man’s stronghold.
To cut down every raised hand,
To bring to ruin every bailey.
To bring obscurity to faith itself,
Not stopping unless every quanta of light
And every evidence of life was sold.
And the moment, defined by every man’s voice
Screaming, “It’s the end of days.”
In the wake of all the rusty skies,
Deeds became noble, and hearts went foul.
Venomed by the call of judgement
And ruled by barbaric austere.
Until one man, amongst the debris announced,
“Every dusk is a dawn, and
Spectral shows follow the storm.”
A spark which ignites the biggest fire of all.
Touché Shakespeare, well said,
“All the world’s a stage, and men merely players.”
But that one man led the skit of his time.
After whom everyone held hands,
And everyone felt strong.
When the darkness was won over,
All that was heard was applaud.
And He was just another man, who could take a stand,
Whom they called, their God.
