Purpose in Progress

The use of something is not always immediately apparent.

From the sky comes pouring such fervor and vices
From the planes insecticide, corrupting devices
Like pins and needles, the fury beside us
Droplets of anguish, a people in crisis

In a hand held aloft sits a cover of sorts
On which bounces away all the pain and retorts
Of a world operating on its last resorts
It shields its holder from all manner of force

But the water of hatred that falls from the lip
Looks of color and mirth and honey to sip
From a rain of their hatred their struggles did drip
The insanity before was not even a blip

In the midst of a storm, all the thoughts that prevail
Are same as the pain of one beaten by hail
But to sit beneath something that spares you its wail
Will show you a world and its people, their tale