Away it sweeps, a vengeance,

dragging its drab dismay close,

soundless, silent in anger,

ice cold burn.

The sepia sunset,

dank with emotion,

at its helplessness

clammy, corporeal.

The trees, livid without their green,

hurt you with their light,

their bare torsos swaying to

an uncontrollable madness.

It brandishes its whip, nay,

rears back, in anticipation,

of your cringing resistance,

to its undeniable superiority.

But it cannot fight. a non-living thing,

it cannot break. a wall of steel,

it cannot hide. from an artificial element,

it is no match. to the bicentennial man.