Nebulous Horizon

So, it's been said that everything looks better in the morning light, but when sun's warm rays cannot break through the shrouded zenith what hope is there for life? What can be observed in a world that's been shrouded in gray when the nightscape bleeds its tears at the start of each new day? The answer I cannot prudently offer, nor do I fear anyone can say when it appears as if a malevolent force holds luminance at bay. No amber sun rises in the East to greet dawn in the morn, nor does a red sky serve seafarers as a means to forewarn them of a danger lurking on the high sea may soon be born... A nebulous horizon has taken a choke hold with winds of scorn. Worldly warmheartedness has weekend and no longer exists and everything is blanketed as if drenched in drizzling mists. Irascible is mankind; legions are protesting with raised fists. What's become of the brotherhood of man? It no longer subsists. Will another starry, starry night ever again be visibly seen or is Earth to be left forever without shades of forest green? Void of reflected prismed sunsets in a world no longer serene as though lost in a deep abyss, tossed into the mouth of a ravine. And if another day cannot be distinguished from dark of night will civilization be destroyed or left to dwell in consummate fright? Will people be fearful of this ambiguous, amorphously baffling plight if starlight's glimmering is absent, leaving Earth in a decaying blight? Riding low across aubergine skies, gray clouds are being swept as if bruised from sullen memories, the landscape has wept. Over smoky plains and hazy valleys, a nebulous fogginess has crept leaving life consumed by dankness, a catastrophic concept.