Downfall

I’ve pulled the skies empty of clouds. Match and bellow, setting ablaze the clumped ethereal linen of sunlight fantasy. But it is so that atmospheric heights form yet more clouds. High clouds of frozen ash. Hail is coming.Grey and viscous. A cold burning unremovable. No shelter in the plains. The peaceful conclusion of regret from reaching into the heavens and pulling down a hell.

-M