A storm has passed over our weathered city.

A storm rests upon our city.

It slips beneath a dark grey cloud.

The first of many dead rats has appeared on the street.

Its dark, rough hair alomost matching the asphalt.

The soft gleam of sunset just a reflection in its dead eyes.

No longer able to smell the approaching rain.

No longer able to hear the first soft cracks of thunder.

No longer able to feel the growing moisture.

This first of many martyrs becomes almost a legend.

Until even time forgets its shocking purpose.

Only to be ressurrected as reference for fleeting moments.

Memories of forgotten experience becoming misused links.

Forced into making connections left unstable and bare.

Unexpectedly it creates a following.

An unruly mass unaware of its own intent.

Unaware of it's ability and blind to it's course.

Existing simply because it can and growing for the same reason.

So much unlike the blossoming sunset.

Which falls away leaving nothing to shame. {the mass falls away leaving nothing but regret}

Dissapearing before the darkness in its own time. {The mass collapsing into darkness before its ready}

Swept into a state of meditation and rest. {The mass stumbling into fear and conflict}

Only to come back as quickly as it was forgotten. {The mass will never return to it's forgotten place}

An explosion just past the horizon.

It's fire consuming the sky all day.

Awakening the sleeping storm from upon the city.

Turning our lost martyr into a saint.

It pushes away the dark grey blanket.

Throwing the wind in a different direction.

Pouring rain onto our lost saint.

Cleansing it in the baptisimal waters of our waste.

Washing the forgotten saint into our sewers.

As the sun sets, a storm passes through our city.

{T}