A Storm in The Valley
From an awakening of a glorious shine,
That arose from the horizon of the eastern dawn,
There was once a croon and melody sound.
From Heaven in which it came, to the valley
where it was pertained, though on one day something came,
With a hellish roar.
From Hell it was made, to the valley that gave it no shame;
When it arrived and made its stay, after the moon had made its
Fade, over the darkness of the endless day, it lingered to the
Groundless east and arrived with no ease. For that sullen
Sound was a sound of clashing tides from that of a roaring
Shore, it was nothing more, than a ravishing Storm.
For days it stayed, as the overwatch that prevented
Any ray to come through, like such of the holy ray.
For the Puritans, once holy creatures of He, gave no more
Treasury to the One who was meant to sent them free.
Though on one rainy day came a Man that was made to stay.
A Man of mystic who came from the vast realm to love the
Puritans, who they saw, and ran away. Though the Man was
No body of fear, like a roaring and soul eating bear, He was
Only there to make everything fair.
To many of them he was a great and terrifying fate,
To others he was a true revival and a saint;
And throughout these gloomy days, the Storm roared of
Crucial pain and weeping drops of fire like the sounds of their
Unforgiving prays. For the Storm still made its stay,
Underneath the holy ray, while many of the souls in the valley
Were now under way.
And though the Man was dealt to stray,
From the unholy Puritans who they tried to dismay
By their lost of faith and lust for selves,
The Man of He was not there to shame them,
But he was only there to set them free.
The Storm still roared like a terrifying boar above the souls
For its Master that commenced the evil choir.
For darkness the Storm gave, like the perpetual darkness
Of night in which it came, it roared and roared at the tainted
Souls within the doomed valley.
But though the Man was brave and could sense the cry
And unholy rain of the roaring Storm, the Man felt no sore
Like the ones before; and so, the Storm roared once more as
The valley was now to relinquish and release its
New, and forever, peace.
For the Storm was no more, and the Sun was no more to shun.
The Puritans were now in their forevermore, for they had
Fathomed once more, about the Man, who was nothing more,
than a Rider on the Storm.