Simple things

A poem of apocalyptic expanse

Can the world be shut
down by a simple
Act of that unfounded
To shift the tides
And merge the winds
Controlling what we claim
And sin and molding that
Out from within, ripping through
Our simple towns, claiming masses
Off the ground, and pulling
Forth the earthly sounds of
Horror, pain, and agony
So all that's left is ripped
Up seams, broken hearts,
And nasty screams from all
Who think their
World a pure and holy
Thing, all while terror
We'd not foreseen wipes
This perilous
Place clean, cleansing the
Lands of any signs of
Intricate humanity