For many days the world went black
People screamed and cried but nothing went back
To normal as many say but today is just another mournful day
For this is what has to be said, yet can the world all be crazy instead?
For many days the world went black
No matter how old, this still was a fact
As this affected many with differnet colored skin,
Combing as many, as it they were kin
Now on this day, of the recorded blackest of black
The question remains.
For when ,will the world decide to turn back?
A hooded figure walks , walks through the old streets of London. This distinctive color is one mere ptach amongst amist of white powdery snow. For it is winter time in England and everyone is in full bloom over the holidays. People shop, smile, and even sing ahppy carols but have no idea of what malady will over take them, in only a matter of days.This figure continues to move briskly though the winding streets, beyond all simple talk , is where this persons thoughts are located. Children stop and stare at eh en-closed figure, yet the adults don't even pay a word, for they are to small minded to notice death when it is peering at them in the face.
Tilting its head slightly to the west , the figur as if for a moment, seems to notice the setting sun. But today the sky does sseem different; because the fluffy gray clouds almost seem to bleed, possibly with envy over the beloved sun. Yet, this isn't the case; the clouds bleed with fear for their very lives, the lives of the people they are forced to watch over everyday. The clouds know of the peopls, SOON TO BE, misfortunes but have no other means of fore-warning. No matter , even how big ot dmall the warnings could ever have some, people would still never have taken notice, until it was too late.
The figure continues to walk down the streets and passed an old English pub and out of site.
BUT aloing the way, a little girl runs to pick up a blood red rose petal formthe street corner. She feels its smooth and velvety teture between her finger tips and smiles. She turns to SHOW this treasure to her mother, just to notice the streets are covered in petals, up and down, the path the hooded fiure had taken.
She straights up and gripps the petal in her palm and squeezes until the juice runs flowing over her fingers. At that moment the petal shrivels befoer her eyes and floats away in the light breeze. AT that the dogs begin to howl and the wind blows an un-easy blow across the hoards of people.But it is already to late, for figure is gone and the bloody juice stil remians as a stain o the childs hand. Thus, compensating as the premonition of what is to come. For the blood of many will spill and will stain more than just small finger tips. Today a curse has been born upon the world, showing that the damned can never be silenced.
The dancers, tens of them forming a large triangle, moved about all dressed in shimmering pink sequin bikinis. They are singing to up beat jazz music and circling around hundreds more colorful dancers of all shapes and sizes. They are beautiful, moving about, flirting with tthe crowd in a way no one of my family has ever seen before. As rich children we were sheltered, yet the inner animal won with in us and now look at where we are; at a whore house, with jazz and ale
