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Seven cities sat silently in the sandstorm
Waiting as the wind whipped around wickedly
Dun walls draped with dirt and dust
And the darkened sun desperately seeking a dim scenery

But as the unsecured boards were battered and broken about
Clapping clappers clipping the next scene
The humans huddle in the hovels hiding and hidden
From the farce of the ferocious furor, full of fear

But then, as suddenly as it started, it subsides
As silence settles and the sand sifts down
Down to the ground and gravel
And carefully eyes peek out of slits and keyholes

Seeing the first rays slice through the haze
Defining from pastel to watercolor to crisp bristle brush
Even if the voice of the cities are still hush
There is a stirring of life
Of hope
In the end of stormy strife



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