Scourge of Michael

Monstrosity of darkness, howling winds and waves of ferocity ~

Homes swept away, steel shells of grand buildings left in tortuosity ~

Scourge of God, perhaps, or mindless chance,

Who really knows about the turbulent dance

That we call by the same name as the warrior archangel of heaven,

Which beckons recognition of power in a position of submission,

And all our glory from before lies shattered on the floor of earth,

As the storm sunk the worth of worldly goods, leaving us in dearth,

And so though we cast our bread upon the water, the pain will last

As we hold fast to some sliver of hope among death and destruction, 

While we arduously work at reconstruction in upward direction

Without any eruption in jubilee, for we mark our enemy in the sea,

Wondering when we will next be forced to flee such dark reality

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