Battle In The Sky

It was a tranquil day one early morn
Under a cloudless sky until the sound of the horn.
For then up soared flocks of feather plumed steel
Descending upon those whom did feel.

Next came the black smoke plaguing the sky,
Like venom coursing through the air now dry.
These tendrils danced in the wake of the sun,
Savouring it until there was none.

As days passed by, the black curtains were drawn.
Winged messengers circled, upon the cold winds borne.
Then they descended black sickles bared,
Intent on reaping those for whom poor fortune had fared.