Hell. Tears.

Sunset in the land of lights and baseball.
Darkness falls on the garden.
Steam floats up from the ocean,
and we all hold our breath.
Beads of sweat roll down and strike the floor.
The second hand trips forward.
The masses laugh and cry,
the coffee percolates.
The sun dips below the horizon,
the wind picks up and the temperature falls.
We all huddle close together in the cold.
Lightning breaks through the cold like a knife.
Somewhere a child screams. "The sky is falling."
Somewhere a flame goes out.
Superman falls from the heavens, crashing through
a layer of cloud to lie broken in the dust.
Somebody pour me a stout white-russian,
I think I'm lost in the darkness.
Dogs chase their tales and mothers tend their flower gardens,
and the smoke of a dozen dreams burned to nothing
hangs about us like a fog.
We cry out to the sky and stars
to free us from the nightmare, but there is no sunlight.
Stone upon stone we rebuild. Hour by hour, we sweep away
the dust and we pray, "Please, no more."
As the air begins to settle, and the sun does not rise,
the very earth beneath us shakes and trembles.
Chandaliers rattle, rafters creek, mothers cry.
The earth goes about it's dance and we cry in pain,
"Make it stop!"
Dogs howl at the moon in distress,
dirt and plaster float down to catch in our hair.
After a thousand years of holding our breath, it stops.
The masses come out of their homes, out of their holes,
and tremble.
We look up at the sky.
We look down at the ground.
We look out at each other, drenched in sweat,
streaked by tears and torn apart.
We look out at the darkness and we whisper,
"Is it safe?"
We huddle in fear and wait.
Teh coffee percolates, pot after pot we drown our sorrow.
The second hand does it's little dance around the world.
On a dark new world, the sun rises.