The Endless Calm

There were no birds, in a darkened night,
Where fell a rain fast and true.
Where calm winds blew, across wasted lands,
And no moon nor sun ever grew.

No mountains loomed on this forsaken terra,
Yet cold was this blighted land.
Like winters gone, of ages past,
When still was an ocean along sand.

And neither were there lights,
In the darkest skies above.
And dark were the waters that endless flowed,
To fall through the womb of earth.

Then began a silent rain of sorts,
Yet soft against the fledgling leaves.
Though warm it felt, to the dying land,
Which parched and weeping still grieved.

The jagged scar which ran through,
The bosom of the earth so bled.
Spanned across a mountain length,
Towards horizons unfathomed it led.

But then the rain died,
And with it died the hope faint.
But not before, the waters had purged,
Almost clear the land of taint.

Yonder now grew, a sapling untouched,
By the frost which winter brought.
A promise of life, was born instead,
In the wrath that nature hath wrought.

And lo, came Fate, on her horses black,
To mock the resurgent land.
Her raven locks, like waters rippled,
Like ripples the ocean on sands.

Nary a gait, was taken as she,
Moved closer to the sapling frail.
Then laughng, she plucked a dying life,
And left, the land now pale.