The Crimson Man

Creeping from the depths.

The deafening screeching, the crimson man flows

All the trees howls in woe but before they can… the crushed souls becomes their abode.

A mate-less ringing rolls o’er and yonder in the distance.

A crackling burning furor temper erupts in the air.

A face made from sin and a cloak yielded from a molten wrath.

The crimson man rises.

With arms like sharpened kukris, he gashes through every tree.

Then… the crimson man witnesses… a drop of life…                                     

like a gallon of graceful, pure gold

It looks for someone to hold.

The rain dives, slumping towards earth with no intention for ravage or fury.

The crimson man senses there is no jury… outstretched the rain cuts him instantaneously

But as the rain fights back… it notices the crimson man delay his outrage

His hand turns into flames as he vanishes into his old auburn cloak

The taste of falling ash begins to fill the bittersweet air.

The trees bark is now coarse and bare.

A single tree falls down, down, down and only now hits the ground

There is now no longer a single sound, silent and reformed

The forest prepares for an invincible storm.